


The Aftermath at Mount Massive

by Tien



Series: Survivors [1]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Cannibalism, Gen, Gore, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-03
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-23 21:56:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 134,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2557127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tien/pseuds/Tien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after the events of the game. Miles and Waylon travel across the country dodging the police, military, and Murkoff security teams as they try to bring the corporation down. Running out of money becomes the least of their  concerns. Miles struggles with controlling the Walrider and the separation from his family slowly tears Waylon apart.  </p><p>The Aftermath at Mount Massive picks up right where the game left off with Miles in the asylum. It turns out that living in the now abandoned facility comes with a few problems beyond finding food and water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home in Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first venture into the Outlast fandom.  
> Survivors is a massive story I'm writing and I'm hoping people enjoy it. It's been a blast so far to write, and I can't wait to post the next updates.  
> The details about Mount Massive I'm making up as I go. In canon there's not much to go off of, I've read the wiki a million times, but there are some things I just don't know. Like a complete layout of the facility or how the inner workings functioned. There are a few guesses that I made based on the couple of maps you can see in game, but I'm grasping at straws.  
> If anyone has suggestions or things I could improve on, I'm open to hear them.

> Oh god. Just, oh god. William “Billy” Hope is dead. I killed him. And hey, for the record, the man was in control of a dangerous science demon. Oh fuck, where did it go? The Walrider…shit is it dead too? I lost sight of it when it…hell. I’m going to die. There isn’t much hope for me. I’ve taken too much of a beating, can hardly stand, can’t breathe right, can’t walk straight. (Laughing mixed with coughing) You had a good run Miles, a damn good run. We can’t all be winners. (The camera pans to a set of double doors.) I’m going to try to get out; I’m going to at least try to not be another corpse on the ground. I’m going to try to take this fucking corporation down with me. If I get out, Murkoff, you watch your fucking backs, because I’m going to make sure you all get what’s coming. (Laughing.) If I die, when I die, at least one thing will be waiting for me. Freedom. Freedom from the pain, from the static that pushes against my skull, and from knowledge that humans are cruel creatures. This is Miles Upshur, and I’m a dead man walking.

Transcription from the audio visual log of Miles Upshur, Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane. September 18, 2013.

\---

Eyes blinked open against impossible odds. He was _dead_ and he knew that people don’t just stop being dead. So why was he awake? Why was his heart beating steadily in his chest? And why was the static back? Dead men don’t see, dead men don’t breathe. Humans don’t get back up after taking ten bullets to the chest. He was a dead man. But he’s not and it didn't make a lick of sense.

Miles snapped into consciousness, his brain started to work in overdrive to process the amount of information it was taking in. He wasn’t in the laboratories anymore, the off white walls and wooden doors would suggest he was in the Male Ward, just outside the Administrative Block. “How the fuck did I get up here?”  
When he started looking around he noticed something else. Bodies. They couldn’t really be called bodies anymore though. The resemblance to ground beef was too great. “Shit…” He glanced around and tried to spot what had turned these sorry bastards into hamburger. If it was still around it’d want to kill him, too. He had to be cautious. There was a very real chance it would be after him.

There were still too many questions left unanswered. Miles didn’t know how he got here. He couldn’t remember much past being shot. His head hurt; there was the sound of static again. It pressed against his skull, worse than any headache he had experienced before.

The pain dropped him to his knees and he reached up to grasp his head in his hands. That was when he understood. Wernicke’s final words to him rang out clearly in his mind, cutting through the static and the pain for a moment of terrifying clarity.

“Gott im Himmel. You have become the new host.”

Host. The Walrider. “That’s right,” Miles murmured to nothing but the blood pooling on the floor. “I never saw the Walrider die…it just, put its hands inside me and disappeared. I assumed it had died, I was wrong. So fucking wrong.” 

Black dust swirled around his arms and body, the color in his skin was replaced with darkness. He checked himself over, noting that the bullet holes still dotted his chest, and that his whole body had become a dark shadow. “Holy shit,” he said, again to no one.

There was still a dull throbbing that was in step with the beat of his heart. His body was in pain, but still numb. He unbuttoned his shirt and saw that his injuries were still there, and they were still bleeding. Sluggishly blood flowed from the holes, it was darker and thicker and the sight caused Miles to nearly heave. He buttoned his shirt back up and took a few cautious breaths. Parts of him felt better, parts felt worse, and the headache refused to go away. That was probably the worst thing, the feeling of something in his mind that wouldn’t shut up.

A quick glance at his hands revealed that his missing fingers were still in fact, missing. With a grunt he rose to his feet and tried to sort out everything that had happened. _I killed Billy Hope, then the Walrider attacked me…I didn’t actually see the monster die, it just disappeared and dropped me. Then, then I met Dr. Wernicke in the hall. Those soldiers, they shot me. They killed me. I should be dead right now._ He placed a hand over his chest to feel his heart still stubbornly beat confirming the impossible. _It has to be the Walrider, it must have saved me._ For a reason Miles still didn’t know, it saved him. He glanced around the hall again. “At least I’m on the ground floor, I still might be able to claw my way out of here yet.”

A sound pierced the silence; it was a scream of pain. Someone was still alive, and close to the exit. Miles had to know who else had come this far. He started running down the hall and entered the foyer just in time to hear a man yell, “No one can know. No…one.” On the floor was another man, Miles could already see blood welling up between fingers that were clenched over a wound. But more importantly, in the other hand he spotted a hand held video camera, much like his own. _Is it another reporter? Did someone else receive the same email and come looking for a story?_ He looked to the other man standing over him with a knife raised. He was wearing business attire, and to Miles that was more than enough proof to declare him a higher up of this godforsaken place.

Anger burned deep within Miles. _No one is going to stop this story from getting out. Especially not this asshole._ In an instant something shot out from behind Miles. It was a shadowy figure made of bones and swirling fog. The man never saw it coming. It lifted him high into the air and ripped him to pieces. The other reporter didn’t need an excuse to start running. He scrambled to his feet and hobbled out the door.

Miles stood alone in the room watching. He was stunned. “What the fuck just happened?” _That was the Walrider, there was no mistake._ It did just what Miles had envisioned himself doing. It tore him limb from limb. “Did I just…tell the Walrider to kill that man?” Without thinking he raced to the door and watched the reporter continue to hobble out into the early morning light. Miles was determined to do anything to ensure that that man got out alive. There were no other visible barriers stopping him from escaping, this guy was actually going to do it. He stepped outside and winced as the bright light his eyes. He raised an arm to block out the sun.

The man was heading for a car; Miles focused a little more and realized, “That’s my fucking Jeep!” He growled softly. The car was already trying to turn around by the time Miles was down the first set of stairs. He watched the jeep jerk and splutter, “Idiot, you have feather the clutch, first gear always sticks…” Miles was about to run the rest of the way down the stairs but he noticed the large amount of black swirling fog. It would touch his skin, soft fingers of wind and it rooted him in place.

He caught his reflection in the glass of an abandoned army vehicle and froze. His clothes were bloody and tore to hell, his skin dark and shadows danced around his tall form. It wasn’t the reflection of a human he saw, but of a monster. He sighed and looked back at his car driving away. There was no way he could catch up now, and even if he did, why should that man let him in? _Might as well help the guy out. Can’t have him bashing up my poor baby too much._ A focused wind blew straight for the jeep, giving it the extra push it needed to bust through the gates and speed down the road. Miles sent every bit of luck he had with the car.

Then he was alone, utterly alone on the front steps. The shadows around him faded and the rage he had felt inside was disappearing as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Miles took a deep breath and looked back at his reflection, he was mostly back to normal but his eyes were completely black. “This summer’s new look, I guarantee it.” Then he headed back up the stairs, pausing once more to look out at the bright sky. “Sun’s too damn bright this early in the morning.” His mood didn’t improve any when he realized that there was still a fire raging on the premise and a hell of a lot of clean up to do.

He started by backtracking and making his way down to the laboratory to retrieve his camera. Miles prayed it wasn’t damaged and that the footage on it held up. _I’ve been recording for hours; there can’t be much memory left._ It wasn’t hard to remember the way he came. The events hadn’t happened that long ago and Miles was still fairly confident he knew the way. His concern was rising when the number of freshly dead corpses littered his path. There was no way of knowing for certain if he was responsible for the deaths of those men, but deep down Miles knew. It was him. When he reached the laboratory the corpses were harder to distinguish. The Walrider had made a mess down here prior to Miles even entering the building and he wasn’t so good at telling which blood splatters and body parts were newer or older than others. Old and new blood glistened the same on the smooth reflective floors.

His hands started shaking when he got closer and closer to where he remembered dying. He rounded the corner and found a bloodied section of hallway. There was a set of wheelchair tracks that led away from the pools of blood. Miles had a pretty good idea of who the tracks belonged to, but he couldn’t confirm his suspicion.

It was hard to tell what species the viscera and slabs of meat belonged to. Only the tattered remains of clothes hinted of human origin. Miles stepped over a severed stomach and string of intestines to a spot just beyond the gore. There among bullet holes rested a familiar partner.

“Oh thank god for small victories,” he muttered and bent down to grab his camera. The screen was still cracked from its fall earlier, but the rest of it looked ok. “Outlast makes a damn good camera, I’ll be their personal spokesperson if I make it out of here.” He noted the power was at twenty five percent and the memory card was only half way full. The camera had been facing the wall when he picked it up, but he decided to pause the recording and go back through the video and find the part where he got shot. There might be a few clues as to what happened. He picked a less gory spot around the corner and sat down. For the first time since he entered the asylum Miles felt at ease.

The room where Billy’s life-support resided was quiet and only the monotonous drone of evacuation sirens could be heard in the distance. It didn’t appear to him that any other people had made it this far from the main sections of the asylum. Miles opened the video he had shot and skipped ahead to the part where he had died. It was surreal hearing his fight with the Walrider then watching his feeble attempts at escape. In all honesty Miles never thought he’d even reach the hallway. He held his breath when the video showed him being stopped by the soldiers. His throat caught and he had trouble swallowing when he heard the recorded sounds of his last breath. But the camera picked up something else, the sound of screams and of flesh being ripped apart. He heard Dr. Wernicke’s conclusion that he was the new host, but he couldn’t actually see his body, the camera was facing the wrong way. After reviewing the footage a few more times he came to the conclusion that the Walrider had killed the soldiers, then later his  
own body was lifted from the floor and started moving down the hall. It moved without him being conscious.

Whether or not that was what had really happened, Miles didn’t know. He was grasping at straws. One thing is for sure, he, or the Walrider, had killed a whole lot of people. He ran a hand through his hair and focused on breathing. _So now what? What do I do?_ He didn’t want to stay here but the more he thought about his options the more he realized that it might be his only choice. _I’m not exactly human anymore, am I? I don’t think I can just call a cab and move on with my life._ There was one thing he knew for absolute certainty though. _Murkoff is going to pay._

When Miles had gotten a hold of himself he got up and made the trek back to the surface levels of the asylum. He needed to obtain a few things. First was a place to act as a home base of sorts, somewhere he could secure and sleep. Preferably somewhere with a computer and window, and not as much gore. The rooms on the upper floors of the Administrative Block seemed like a good place to start, he remembered them being less ruined when he first entered last night.

The other patients had made themselves scarce he noted. He had not passed a single one during the entire trip down and back up to the main entrance. They had to still be here, there’s no way they were all killed in the time he wasn’t conscious. There was a staircase that led up to the second and third floor. He climbed all the way to the top and walked down the halls searching for a room that wasn’t completely destroyed. Miles eventually found one; it looked like an old executive office. He had to go through several doors just to reach it. Once inside he found a desk with a chair, its back facing a large double door window, two couches and an armchair. There was also a bookshelf along the left wall and a fireplace along the right. What was nice was the lack of blood and broken glass in this room. It was in pristine condition. _No one must come this way, at least not often._

Miles sat down on the couch, noting its softness and had to resist the great urge to sleep right there and then. But there were still a few more things he had yet to do today. The next most pressing matter would be figuring out how far the fire in the chapel had spread. He hoped it had stayed contained and not spread to any of the buildings. Then he needed to find a source of food and water that wasn’t contaminated with body fluids. But when he reached for the door handle he discovered a more urgent item to add to the list, his hands.

They would need immediate attention, the bone on his right pointer finger was exposed and his missing left ring finger was still slowly gushing blood. Now that the adrenalin had worn off Miles was starting to feel each injury. He wandered down the hall until he spotted a bathroom. The lights still worked in this portion of the building and the bathroom looked to be in supreme condition. “The higher ups must not have been around during the security breach,” Miles said. _Or else they were the first to flee to their expensive cars as soon as shit hit the fan._ He strode up to the mirror and turned the faucet, thankful that the water that came out was clear and clean.

He bent down to take greedy mouthfuls of water. It cooled his throat and helped to wash away the thick taste of bile and copper that lingered in his mouth. Then he stared at his hands. He grit his teeth and shoved them under the lukewarm water. Saying it stung would be a grave underestimation of the pain. It hurt like hell. Miles was near tears when he began washing out the wounds he had received. He was most concerned about his right pointer finger; the exposed bone could not be good. There was true fear coursing through him when he realized that it had been hours since the injuries had occurred and not once had they been cleaned out or protected. _I trudged through sewers, blood, and all kinds of shit…_ He felt sick to his stomach but held back on throwing up. _I’m probably going to die from this. It has to be infected by now; at the very least I’m going to lose my hand._

Miles grabbed some paper towels from the dispenser and gingerly dried his hands off. He hadn’t stopped shaking through the whole ordeal. His jacket was shrugged off and he pulled his shirt over his head. The bullet holes were oozing a black liquid, but they didn’t hurt anymore. He dabbed at the holes with a paper towel, “That can’t be healthy.”

 _Screw living through the next few days, it’ll be a miracle if I survive the night._ He wondered where the bullets were, he wasn’t a medical expert, but he thought that maybe he’d be able to feel them inside. But there was nothing, not even a dull throb. He threw his shirt in the sink and blasted hot water over it. Then he reached for the soap dispenser and poured a large amount over the shirt. It wasn’t perfectly clean when he was done, but it was better than nothing. He tore off a section of the bottom and used it to wrap his hands over his finger. It stung, but it was a something to shield the wound. He left his jacket in the sink to wash later.

Exhaustion soon washed over him and he needed to sleep; even if it was only for an hour or two. Surely he’d wake up at the sound of a pin drop. He walked back to the office he had dubbed his new room and closed the door, and then he pushed one of the couches to block it, just in case. With the last of his strength spent he collapsed on the other couch. The mid-September sunlight poured in through the window and was a welcome warmth to the reporter who soon fell asleep. The only thing that broke the peace was the stinging pain from his hands, and the sound of static that had returned as soon as he closed his eyes.

Miles was jerked awake by sudden pain that shot up his arms from his hands. “Holy shit,” he swore, got up, and stumbled back to the bathroom. Once there he tossed his jacket from the sink and carefully undid the bandages he had wrapped not even two hours ago. They were stained through with black liquid that gushed lazily from each wound. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Miles muttered undoing the strips of cloth with more haste. “This still can’t be healthy,” he said examining his hands.

It was no competition, but his right hand looked far worse. The skin around the fingers had turned black and they smelled of rot. Miles was shaking again; and the fear returned. “I survived all that hell and I’m going to die of an infection. Fucking fantastic.” He began to debate leaving the asylum to try to find help, but then he remembered he was the new host. _I can’t risk putting others in harm just so I can save my hands or my life._ His vision blurred a bit and he realized that even if he wanted to leave, he probably wouldn’t make it down the driveway before passing out.

He examined his fingers once more, and tried hard not to dry heave. The smell wasn’t pleasant, and the bone that was exposed looked like it was being eaten away. Black tendrils of color wound their way up the remains of his fingers from the back of his hand. The discoloration was also spreading up his arm. Miles was starting to panic, he assumed that the darkness was the dead flesh and infection, it wouldn’t be long before it reached all the way up his arm. Then it would probably kill him. He ran his fingers under water and recoiled at the increase in pain. Instead he took more paper towels and dabbed as gently as he could at the black sludge before wrapping them back up in his makeshift bandages. Miles didn’t know what to do, he had never seen an infection like that, and he had seen enough injuries during war to last a lifetime. At least the bullet holes had stopped leaking, but they were crusted over with the same black stuff. Miles picked at it a bit, noticing that it would bleed traces of red with the black when he pulled back the scab.

His stomach growled but he had to ignore it, in his condition he doubted he could do more than walk down the hall back to his room. It took great effort to disregard the pain and hunger that clawed at him, and to resist the urge to collapse back on the couch. Instead he sat down at the abandoned computer. It was password protected which was annoying. Miles’ head was spinning and he could hardly see the screen. He typed a few keystrokes with his left pointer finger, the one finger that hurt the least. First he tried “Murkoff” which didn’t work, then a few other combinations of the company name, asylum name, the year it was founded and reopened. Nothing again. The desk he sat at held no clues to the owner of the computer, there were no pictures or scraps of paper that would betray a personal life. In short, nothing to draw a password from. Frustrated and out of ideas he typed, “Fuck this place” and hit enter. The computer whirred for a moment then the loading screen appeared.

“Shit, that actually worked. Guess I wasn’t the only person here who hated it here,” Miles said as he opened an internet browser. The most pressing matter was figuring out what type of infection he might have. He googled various combinations of injury names and treatments, then a list of fungal infections, and finally he started researching what to do for amputated limbs. It was slow going, Miles had to stop frequently and close his eyes against the pain, not only in his hands but his head as well. The static was back, it seemed to surround him and made his vision swim more than he had liked.

Eventually after googling “How long does a person have to reattach a finger?” and coming up with twelve hours as the answer he shut the computer off and fell back on the couch. Even after reading article after article he couldn’t figure out what was slowly killing him. Miles was ready to resign to his fate. He didn’t have any food, the closest water was down the hall, he could hardly walk or think straight, and he still had no idea if half the complex was on fire because of Father Martin’s foolish upstage of Jesus. _The man should have picked a better witness._

He closed his eyes and was ready to never open them again.

The sun had dipped lower in the sky when Miles was wrenched out of unconsciousness for a third time that day. It wasn’t from pain however, but from an overpowering sound of static. The same static that had been plaguing him since he first saw the Walrider up close in the courtyard. He opened one eye and looked up at the desk where the computer was. That’s when he saw it. With both eyes open he could make out the faint black outline of the Walrider.

His first instinct was to run, but his body couldn’t manage that, all it could do was sit up and push against the back of the couch. He was scared but also curious. According to Wernicke he was the host now. _Surely it wouldn’t try to kill its own host?_

 _“Food, Host, We brought you food.”_ It said in a voice that cut through the static and echoed around his head. _“Eat, Host. You are weak. You need food.”_ The Walrider didn’t appear to be threatening. It merely sat there, on the desk and watched Miles press himself against the couch. It would have found it amusing if he wasn’t its host. It wasn’t so sure it wanted a host that would give into fear.

A bag was set down on the couch next to Miles. It appeared to be someone’s lunch bag, complete with a water bottle attached to the side. Hesitantly he reached out and grabbed it; the Walrider did nothing but watch. He opened the zipper and peered inside. To his relief it contained a ham sandwich and bag of chips and not organs. “Where did you find this?” He asked and pulled out the sandwich, he wasn’t quite sold on the idea of eating random food from a collection of mentally controlled nanites.

 _“There was a cold machine that had other human foods in it. Down the hall,”_ it gestured with its hand. _“In Billy’s memories We’ve seen him take and consume items from one such device.”_

Miles nodded, “So you found a fridge, you’ll have to show me,” he added after taking a mouthful, “provided I don’t die.”

_“We are working very hard to keep you alive, Host.”_

His eyes narrowed, “How do you mean?”

_“Your body is highly damaged. We’ve been trying to repair it for hours.”_

Miles lifted his shirt to reveal the disgusting infected bullet holes, “Do you call this healing?”

 _“Yes?”_ It tilted its head to the side, _“Host We are confused. The holes in your chest are better, why are you showing Us this?”_

“What?” He looked down and to his amazement found the holes missing. When he scraped away at the black crust his skin was perfectly healed, scarred, but healed. “The fuck? That was infected, how did…”

The Walrider moved to a more central location in Miles view, so he didn’t have to turn his head. _“We are inside you, We are you. We can make your cells produce Our cells instead of yours. We can put those to use and repair your body. You had metal lodged in your chest, We dissolved it. Many veins were destroyed, We can become artificial bridges and keep blood flowing. Right now We are your bones, We are holding you together.”_

“Incredible,” he muttered. “And my hands? What’s up with them?”

 _"There is much damage to that area, Host. We are trying Our best. For now we will kill the infection and dissolve the open bone. Then you must grow skin over it. We cannot stop all of the pain sorry,”_ The Walrider finished.

“So that black shit oozing from my wounds, that’s you? That’s not some deadly disease I picked up in the sewer?”

_“Correct. What you see are the dead nanites that are helping to cure the infection.”_

Miles took another bite of the sandwich, “How did you know I was hungry?” He assumed the answer was because the Walrider was monitoring his body, but he had to ask anyway.

_“Your thoughts, We hear them. You were thinking about food, and water, and also about fire. We checked while you were sleeping. There is no fire. Not here.”_

“Good,” he said. “I’m in no condition to be running through flames right now.” Miles leaned back against the couch, relaxing slightly. This was an odd feeling, talking to a destructive monster. Just mere hours ago he was watching this thing rip apart people, including himself. But now it simply floated beside him like a tamed pet. It even brought food and scouted out the area. “So,” he broke the silence, “what exactly does being a ‘host’ mean? What do I do?”

The Walrider was silent for a while, and then replied. _“We cannot live without a human. Our cells do not replicate, Dr. Wernicke told you this. When We chose you for Our new host Our goal was to take over your body, much like we did with Billy Hope. However you surprise Us. You have the strength to control Us as well as your own body and mind. So now, We will do what you desire. We will protect you from your enemies. You are Us.”_

“Ok…” Miles took another bite of sandwich and opened the chips. “So what if I don’t want to be your host, what then?”

_“Impossible. You are Us. You must die in order to be separated.”_

“Right, of course.” Miles thought for a moment, “So are you just going to follow me around for the rest of my life? Like a ghost?”

_“We do not understand the term. But We will follow you, yes.”_

“What happened back there, when I was shot? I blacked out, I don’t remember a thing.” It was something that had been bothering him since he woke up. Miles knew it was probably bad, but he wanted to make sure. I want to know how many I killed.

_“Your mind was unable to control your body, so We took over. It’s rare for Us to do that, and it likely won’t happen to that extent again. We took your body and We made sure you were safe.”_

Miles swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, “And how many did you kill to keep me safe?”

The Walrider paused in thought, _“We do not keep count of the bodies. We could go check though, if that is what you desire Host.”_

“No, no, fuck it. They were probably all Murkoff employees or Variants that wanted me dead anyways. I won’t miss them.” That was a lie and Miles knew it. It bothered him that he had to kill, life or death situations were different, but mindless killing was a whole new thing. He saw how the Walrider acted while attached to Billy. The poor man had almost no control over the Walrider and it did as it pleased. He shuddered at the vision of his own body being taken over like that and used as a weapon.

The chips were now gone and the water bottle half empty by the time he spoke again. “You know, I’m feeling a bit better. Why don’t you show me where you got the food?”

Without a word the Walrider moved towards the door and down the hall. Miles stood and stretched, for the first time since Chris had thrown him over the balcony his lungs felt full of air. He jogged down the hall quickly spotting the faint outline of the Walrider. “Hey Walrider,” he called out, “did you happen to fix my ribs? I can finally breathe, it’s been ages.”

_“Yes, your ribcage took a rather large beating, both from the Us and your encounters with the other humans. It was one of the first things We started to mend.”_

“Thanks,” he caught up and peered around the corner. The Walrider had led him to a break room. This room, like the others in this hallway seemed undisturbed by the chaos that the rest of Mount Massive fell prey to. Miles would like to explore the place further, but so much of it had been damaged he feared for his safety. _Not to mention half the residents here still want to try to kill and or eat me._ He wasn’t interested in becoming tonight’s main entrée. He needed a plan; he needed to figure out what to do next. First he checked the fridge; it contained five more lunch bags, which was a good start. They were all full. “This will last me five days max, if I limit myself to one meal a day.” The Walrider hung back behind him. “I’ll need something more than this if I intend to stay here longer than that.” And Miles had a feeling he’d be here for a while.

He stretched again and faced the door, “Why don’t we go for a walk?” After eating and discovering he was not in fact dying of a horrible infection he felt a bit better. “We’ll stick to the Administrative Block; I don’t want to wander too far into this place without a plan. Too many Variants.”

After a quick jog back up the hall and past his room he arrived at the staircase. He descended the first flight and glanced around the hallway. There was a smell of rot that was beginning to seep up from the lower floors. The dead bodies seemed to increase the further down they went. “You know what we should do?” He asked the Walrider, not expecting a response. “We should clean this place up a bit.” He rested his arms on the balcony and looked down, “I’m not saying we should make it picture perfect, but at least remove some of the bodies.”

_“Why should we bother Host?”_

Miles wrinkled his nose, “Because I have to live here for a while and I’m not too keen on smelling entrails for the next two weeks.”

The Walrider moved in front of Miles, blocking his view of the ground floor, _“Why are we staying? We should be free! We are sick of being caged up in here.”_

For the first time Miles actually felt a bit of emotion come from the Walrider, if it could have emotion that is. “We’re staying here because I have work to do. I’m a journalist, and I’m taking down Murkoff. If you want to throw a temper tantrum fine, but don’t bitch to me about it.” The Walrider seemed unhappy, but it was hard for Miles to tell, it lacked most of the basics of a human face. “Besides,” he said a bit quieter, “I don’t trust myself to look human right now. We’re not leaving until I have my research and perfect control out of you.”

_“But Host, We have been ever so-“_

Miles cut him off sharply, “We’re staying. That’s final.” He turned his back on the Walrider and walked towards the library. “This will be the first room we clean up, now help me with the impaled soldier over there, I can’t lift that.” To his surprise the Walrider did not argue, it simple moved the body and tossed it out the window. _I guess Wernicke was right, that thing really will do whatever I tell it to._ The lights in the library were spotty at best; Miles had no idea if the power was cut to this room, or if the lights were just broken. He didn’t have the information necessary to make the call on his own. _I guess I’ll have to use this room in the daytime only._ It wasn’t the biggest loss, he could still access the books and there was even an unbloodied cart to haul them around in. He browsed the shelves while the Walrider continued to throw body parts out of the windows. “Make sure you get all those heads,” he called to the monster. “I don’t want any of them left, check the shelves too.” 

There were a few good introductory books on hypnotherapy that Miles grabbed and threw under his arm. He also found one on Doctor Wernicke and another on the milestones of biotechnology with a focus on nanomachines. _This should make excellent night reading._ “Walrider, we’re leaving,” He called and walked out of the room. He knew that most of the rooms surrounding the library were offices; he had already dug through them once when he first entered the asylum.

The Walrider appeared alongside of Miles, waiting for further instruction. “Take these books upstairs and set them on the couch where I was sleeping. Then meet me on the ground floor, I think we can drag the rest of the bodies out the back door.” Wordlessly the Swarm took the books and vanished. Miles finished descending the stairs and went to the reception desk in the middle of the foyer. A guard was dead; his body was sprawled out over the intercom system. Miles pushed him aside and started dragging him to the center of the room. He paused and looked around, there was a large room filled with computers to his right. “What was that for? Did they have a data entry team? I can’t believe that with all the secrecy they had here…” Then the idea struck him, “Shit, it’s probably a front. This is the first place you walk into…if someone like me were to go snooping during regular hours nothing would seem out of place. Hire a few people to sit and tap away at some computers and you would have yourself a very convincing office space.”

Miles almost jumped with the Walrider returned, _“Who are you talking to, Host?”_

“No one,” he replied whipping around, “and don’t sneak up on me like that, you’re creepy enough as it is.” The two spent the rest of the daylight hours dragging bodies out of empty offices and from destroyed rooms. They stopped when Miles’ injuries started to act up. They were vaguely aware of another storm breaking outside, the rain pounded against the roof and echoed in the empty space.

As they were working they both noticed an increase to the number of people that were watching them. At the start there were only one or two, Miles could hardly make out their shapes among the darkness. Now there were many more observing what they were up to.

One stepped out into the light and almost instantly the Walrider dropped the corpse it was carrying and rounded on the man. It had his throat in its hands by the time Miles had a chance to spin around and figure out what was happening. “Put him down Walrider,” he ordered. When the Walrider hesitated he said a bit louder, “Put him down. We do not kill the innocent.” 

It looked like it was going to refuse but instead dropped the man who scurried away into the darkened hallway and returned to throwing bodies out the door. _“We don’t understand Host, why can’t We kill him?”_

“Because I’m not a murderer and you’re not either. If they attack, we’ll defend.”

_“Billy wasn’t like this, Billy didn’t care who We hurt.”_

“Well I’m not Billy,” he said with clarity, “so quit your whining and let’s finish up here.” The Walrider looked furious but it said nothing more. It moved the rest of the bodies outside with little to no effort and disappeared from sight. Miles sighed and headed back to the stairs. “What the fuck did I get myself into?”

His hand was on the rail when he heard some whispering from the darkness, “Did you see that?” “It was the Walrider,” “That man stopped it from ripping that guy apart,” “Can he control it?” “The Walrider has come back,” “Where’s Billy? That’s not Billy.”

Miles didn’t feel like answering any of those questions, he continued up the stairs and back to his room. The other patients of Mount Massive didn’t follow. He didn’t delude himself into believing they would stay away for long. Curiosity often got the better of most people, Miles out of every human on this planet understood that the most. They would be at his door within a day, maybe two if he was lucky.

The room was dark when he entered, but the lights still worked so it wasn’t that way for long. He pushed the spare couch against the door again before sitting down and opening one of the books he grabbed from the library. He started with the ones about nano technology in hopes that he’d be able to understand something more about project walrider. However, hours later when he awoke with his face pressed against the book and a spot of drool staining the pages, he realized that perhaps reading something so complex with little energy wasn’t a good idea.

He stretched and placed the book on the desk near the couch. Outside the world was gloomy and it looked like more rain was on the horizon. He stood and moved to close the window but paused when he grew dizzy. Mile’s steadied himself against the back of the couch and waited for his vision to clear. The Walrider appeared beside him, _“Are you ok Host?”_

“What? Yeah, I’m fine. I just stood up too fast.”

The Walrider crossed its arms and floated forward to close the window for its host. _“We don’t think so. We think you need more food.”_

“Then go get me some if you feel that way, I’m sure you can find your way back to the break room.” Miles waved the Walrider away while sitting down at the computer. _I didn’t have much luck with the book last night, but perhaps a quick look through Murkoff’s files will open some doors._

Nothing on the computer was password protected past the login screen. Not even patient information. Miles was appalled at the lack of security. “Maybe I just happened to have picked a high ranking staff computer?” He muttered to himself. There should have been something, he figured, some form of password, or proof of identification to access some of these files. Miles was able to easily sift through any record on any person, staff or patient. He started to open documents left and right. “Shit, I should have brought something more than my puny notebook…”

Inside the third drawer of the desk Miles pulled out a thick notebook. When he flipped inside there were diagrams of projected profits and charts with accompanying tables on where the company was losing money. All of it was labeled as “rough research and planning”. Miles turned the pages, quickly glancing over the figures and scanning for anything that caught his eye. It would seem that the most common item they sunk money into was the hormone therapies. Then Miles noticed something scribbled in the bottom right, it read, “make note of secondary costs, page 52”. “Secondary costs?” Miles echoed, “What are those?” However the notebook didn’t have notes on page fifty-two so it must have been referencing another report.

Miles dog-eared the interesting pages and opened to a blank one to start his own note taking. Finally something that felt right to him. Nothing eased his mind more than reading articles and collecting facts. He lived to make sense of chaos and bring out the truth in the world. It was the whole reason why he decided to take the mysterious lead that led him to Mount Massive in the first place.

The Walrider entered the room and silently stood watch by its host. It set down another bag on the table. _“We brought food. Eat.”_

He glanced at the bag; it didn’t smell like rotting flesh, so it was probably edible. Upon opening it he discovered a small container of pasta and a can of soda. “Is there a microwave around here?”

_“What is that?”_

“Screw it, never mind, I’ll eat it cold.” He popped the tab on the soda and dug into the cold pasta with a fork he found in the bag. It didn’t taste half bad, “These guys sure knew how to cook, for sadistic assholes.” Miles didn’t realize just how hungry he had been, he had practically inhaled the food like it was air and his stomach was left less than full.

 _“You need more,”_ The Walrider said. _“We should go out and look.”_

Miles stood up, “You know, that’s not a bad idea. It would do me good to get a better layout of this place too.” He set his notebook down and unblocked the door the rest of the way. The Walrider followed behind him, quietly, like a shadow. First Miles stopped by the restroom, not only to relieve himself but to check the progress on his hands. When he woke up most of the searing pain was gone. They still looked black and diseased but Miles didn’t feel the same dread when he looked down at them.

When the bandages were removed a thick black slime oozed out of the cloth, Miles gagged. “Oh shit, you’re sure that’s you?”

_“Positive. While you were sleeping we dissolved the exposed bone and flesh of your finger down to the nearest knuckle.”_

Miles washed the black goo off. “So that shit was liquefied me? Nasty.” He rewashed the bandages and wrapped his fingers back up, they were looking better, so that was a good sign. Then they headed for the stairs again. “I’d like to check out the courtyard and maybe get access to where the church was burning.” The layout of Mount Massive was still new to him; he hadn’t gotten the chance to explore much beyond the Administrative Block. Running for his life didn’t leave much time to stop and enjoy the scenery.

They slipped out one of the back doors and were immediately reminded of the reek of death. “Definitely should have moved the dead bodies further from the door,” Miles said as he stepped over a bloating corpse. He walked along the fence line and tried to figure out the boarders of the asylum. But he soon discovered that the fencing only divided the courtyard and that there was more fencing and a few other buildings on the other side. “I wonder where that goes?” He wondered aloud, though he half hoped the Walrider would have an answer. It was silent as the dead.

Further down the line he came to a spot that was vaguely familiar. In the center of a clearing of thinning grass was a fountain. He recognized it and the benches that surrounded it. It was still stained red with blood, but it was a nice break from the dull insides of Mount Massive. Miles was tempted to sit down on one of the benches, however as he approached he noticed that a few of the benches were already taken by patients. He froze when they noticed him, and they stopped talking and stared. “Uh, hi?” Miles offered as an awkward conversation starter.

A few of them moved to get up and slink away, the remaining few people were rooted in fear. “It’s the Walrider,” one of them said.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Miles put his hands up, “I’m not the Walrider, I mean, I am, but I’m not…” he sighed and tried to start over, “I’m Miles Upshur,” he introduced himself. “I’m an independent journalist and I’m trapped here.”

“Aren’t we all trapped here?” A Variant offered up. He was horribly disfigured on his left side, tumors and broken patches of dark skin dotted his face and arm. “So you aren’t the Walrider, but you are. That’s an interesting take.”

“And you’re speaking clearly, a welcome deviation from the norm around here,” Miles observed.

The man laughed, “Some of us aren’t as broken as others. Some of us are. We’re all forgotten garbage so what does it matter in the end?”

“I wouldn’t be in a position to guess, can I sit down?” The man nodded but the others that were still hanging around left without saying a word. “How many do you think are alive?”

“Of what? The Variants or of patients in general? Or maybe the staff?”

Miles shrugged, “Anyone really. There’s too much death around here, it seems like everyone is gone. But if I stand in one place long enough I start to see things move, people shuffling.”

“Chris and the Walrider took out most of the Variants. The Walrider spared the defenseless, Chris did not. The staff are mostly all dead or fled, I doubt any of them are still around, unless they are being tortured,” the man looked up at the clouding sky. “A lot of us aren’t well. A lot of us killed one another; I can’t imagine how many were murdered by the very people they slept next to.”

Miles shuddered, “Yeah I can’t fathom the chaos that broke out in those first few hours…” he met the man’s eyes, “I didn’t arrive in this hell hole till most of the action was over. I met that Chris guy, what an ugly bastard, and the Walrider, we had an interesting few run-ins.”

“I’d say you have,” the man didn’t ask for an explanation, for that Miles was grateful. “So are you going to finish what the last Walrider started?”

“I…no, probably not. I’m not actually sure what the fuck I’m going to do, to be completely honest. Getting possessed by a giant swarm of demon nanites wasn’t on my bucket list.” Miles stretched out and enjoyed the fresh air that moved through his lungs. “I’m not a killer. I don’t want to hurt someone unless they hurt me.”

“You might want to rethink your ideals if you decide to stay here,” the man stood up and started to walk away, “I heard the cafeteria, or what’s left of it, has been raided. There’s nothing left. People are going to start getting a lot more desperate.” 

“Thanks for the tip,” he said.

The man turned to look at him one last time, “You won’t need it, you’re the Walrider, whether you say so or not.”

Then Miles was alone again. _Shit I forgot to get the guy’s name._ Though, he wondered if he’d ever see him again. He glanced around the courtyard and noticed that he could get a clear view of the Administration Block from here. He could also see the two connecting buildings that formed a U shape around the courtyard. There was another building off to the distance that was closed off by rows of fencing. From his current position he couldn’t tell which connected building was the Male Ward, or Female Ward, or if they were even attached. He vaguely remembered going through a prison, but the tangle of air ducts and underground sewers left his mapping memories in shambles. _Fuck I don’t even know if the Female Ward is even connected to the Administrative Block, or what the third building is that’s attached to the one on the right._

 _“The fire was there,”_ The Walrider spoke suddenly and pointed to a large burned down section of the building that Miles was currently staying in.

“Damn,” he commented, “That got close to where I’m living. I’m surprised I didn’t smell the smoke yesterday.”

_“Most of the fire died before you woke up again.”_

He stood and started walking towards the burnt out shell. “Woke up again? Is that your way of putting it? When I came to my senses and stopped letting you have control of my body?”

_“Yes.”_

Miles didn’t say anything else. He jogged a bit and was relieved when most of the soreness from his muscles was gone. His vision swam once but it cleared up when he started moving a bit faster. The Chapel was completely destroyed; it took out three whole floors and left a dark gouge in the side of the building like a scar. When he got closer he noticed that the wood was still wet, probably the reason for the slow spread of the fire. _Glad it rained or I would have been fucked._

Miles walked the perimeter and tried to get a glimpse inside. He took a few steps towards the burned out shell but stopped when he felt the wood creak and shift. He wasn’t eager to repeat the near death experiences he had the other night. If the footing wasn’t stable he wasn’t going to try to put any weight on it.

As he walked he found small parts of the building that were still smoldering. Then he had an idea. “Walrider, help me gather up some wood, check to make sure it’s dry. I think I figured out what today’s activity is going to be.”

His plan was simple, restart a fire a good ways away from the buildings, edge it with broken bricks and throw the bodies on top. It wouldn’t get rid of everything, and the smell of burning flesh would be hell, but it was a lot better than the slow buildup of rot.

As the day progressed the threat of rain went away and the sun came out. It made the work a lot more exhausting. Miles was getting sick of handling and being around dead bodies. They also weren’t burning as fast as he had hoped, but he didn’t know what to expect. He was a journalist; nothing he had ever done was close to this. Miles backtracked and tried to gather more wood to keep the gruesome fire going. When he was walking back his eyes blurred and he stumbled. The wood fell from his grasp and he had to kneel to avoid falling over completely.

It felt like his heart was beating twice as fast and hard and he was getting dizzy and nauseous. He focused on the ground and forced air in and out of his lungs. He had no clue why this was happening to him, as far as he knew he was in pretty good shape. _I may have been running way too much the other day, but fuck I shouldn’t be this exhausted._ When he stood again everything was clearer and he picked up the wood and threw it on the fire. Then he sat down and watched as the Walrider continued to throw body after mangled body into the flames.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” He called to the creature.

It paused and shook its head. _“No, Our energy comes from your energy.”_

“Wonderful, well then you keep at it, I’m going to go take a nap or something, I’m exhausted.” Miles walked back to the fountain and made himself comfortable on one of the benches. It wasn’t the best but it sure as hell beat the soggy ground. He didn’t want to know if the wetness he felt was from the rain, dew, or blood.

His dreams weren’t pleasant, they were filled with death and screaming and he awoke feeling worse than ever. His heart thumped in his chest and he couldn’t catch his breath. When he looked up he saw the Walrider floating nearby. It swam in and out of focus. “Hey,” he breathed, “you’re linked to my body or something right? What the fuck is wrong with me?”

_“You need to eat, you need food. Come, we will find food right now.”_

Miles didn’t have the strength to argue, hell he hardly had the strength to get up. They stumbled back into the Administration Block and left the fire to burn. He was pretty confident that the fire wouldn’t touch anything important and that it would probably burn itself out. He started heading for the staircase that went back to his room when the Walrider stopped him. Miles shrugged and followed it back into the main foyer and then down a hall and into a staircase. “Where are we going?” He asked, a bit worried they would wander too far from home base. He didn’t like the idea of getting lost inside the facility for a second time.

The Walrider didn’t answer, it just kept moving through darkened corridors. Miles was suddenly unsure if he should continue to follow or turn back, he never grabbed his camera and he could hardly see anything in front of him. “I don’t think this is the way to either of the kitchens, or the break rooms.” Still the Walrider remained silent. Now Miles was completely lost and confused. He was also getting frustrated as hunger clawed at his stomach. “Where are we going? Tell me now.”

They entered an empty room. It paused and turned to face Miles, _“Wait here, we will bring you food.”_

Miles obeyed and picked a spot against the wall to settle down in. This room was small and dark but there was a bit of light that radiated in from an emergency exit sign. He didn’t like where he was, it was too far away, and it was too deep in the asylum. But his world wobbled again and he had trouble telling where the ceiling was verses the floor. That was when the Walrider came back and dumped something on ground in front of Miles. “What’s this supposed to be?”

_“Food.”_

“Are you shitting me?” He scooted away from what the Walrider had dropped. “That’s a body, that’s not food.”

The Walrider picked up the corpse and set it down in front of Miles again. _“It is food. Eat.”_

“No, that’s a fucking person. I’m not eating a man, fuck off.”

_“It’s not a human, it’s meat. Humans are alive, meat is dead. This is dead, it is meat. You will soon be meat if you don’t consume it.”_

Miles scooted away again, “I said, fuck off, I’m not eating a goddamn person. I still have my humanity.”

The Walrider was getting impatient and snapped, _“A lot of good humanity will do you when you are dead, Host.”_

“At least I’ll die with a conscience,” he stood up and instantly felt dizzy. Miles pressed himself against the wall and willed himself not to fall over. His heart rate jumped again and his breath came out in jagged gasps. _Fuck this, seriously fuck this._ He took a few steps towards the door but stumbled and fell. “How the hell can I be so worn out, and so fucking hungry?”

The Walrider appeared, once again dropping the body next to its host. _“Humans are idiotic creatures. We did not survive sixty six years to die at the hands of such stupidity. You will eat, you will live, and We will live.”_

“Fucking make me,” Miles spat.

_“As you wish, Host.”_

Miles laughed, “How? I control you, I am in control here, you can’t do anything unless I tell you to.”

_“You are wrong Host, and so very, very stupid. We are controlled by your thoughts, that is correct. But right now your brain can hardly send out the correct orders to your body, do you think it can send something to Us?”_

“What?” Miles was beginning to feel sick.

_“Your brain is misfiring as we speak. We can feel it, your brain isn’t telling you what your eyes are really reporting, your hands cannot stop shaking, and your heart is beating itself to death. You cannot control Us if you cannot control yourself.”_

The Walrider ripped a large section of flesh from the back of the body and pinned Miles to the wall. It shoved the food into Miles’ mouth. He gagged and tried to spit it out but the Walrider prevented it. _“Chew and swallow,”_ It commanded. Miles tried, he really did. But as soon as the first chunk slid down his throat he vomited. _“Useless creature.”_ The Walrider grabbed another piece, this one was smaller. He pried Mile’s mouth open and jammed it in.

“I can’t,” Miles said between convulsions. “I can’t chew it, stop.”

The Walrider focused its power and provided Miles with sharp teeth to slice through the raw meat, then it strengthened the muscles along his jaw and forced more flesh into Miles mouth. _“Here We’ll help you out and give you the tools to eat properly.”_

Tears were streaming down Miles’ face as he was forced to chew and swallow every piece. He tried throwing up several times, but each time the Walrider forced it back down. He couldn’t believe this was happening; he didn’t want to believe it was happening. Fighting was useless, this was a creature that turned Chris Walker into hamburger, the sudden thought and comparison to food made Miles gag. The Walrider tightened its grip around Miles. He couldn’t fight something like the Walrider, his only hope was to get it back under control. But his mind was slipping, not into death, but into instinct.

Hunger suddenly dominated his every thought. He became hyper aware of his heart pounding in his ears, his eyes saw red and his vision tunneled. His breathing was short, but steady. All that mattered was getting food and putting it into his mouth. He lost himself to the hunger and incredible feeling of filling his gut.

Miles wanted to live. His mind was fully under the control of hunger and the desire to keep going, to keep breathing, and to keep _living_. The Walrider took notice of the sudden shift and loosened up on Miles’ throat. It handed the meat to its host and watched as he took his own bites and swallowed without being forced. _“You will live,”_ it concluded and gave Miles more to eat.

Something changed in Miles for those few minutes. He became less of himself and more of an animal. The absolute control his stomach had over him was shocking. It demanded and craved to be filled. What it was filled with did not matter. It just needed to be full and that was all Miles needed to know or care about. He eagerly took large mouthfuls and swallowed without chewing. He even growled at the Walrider for getting too close to his meal. _This is mine. All mine._ He almost smiled, it would have been horrific. Gore streaked shark teeth peeking out through blood stained lips. It would be enough to give anyone nightmares.

Eventually the meat the Walrider was handing out to its host was refused. “No more,” Miles said between breaths. “I can’t, no more.” The Walrider put the scrap down and watched its host. He was starting to come back into control and out of the haze.

Miles wasn’t sure how much time had passed, he lost track of it along with his sanity. When the world came back and he realized what he had done he felt more like a monster than a human. If a Variant had entered that room he would have had no problems with it tearing him apart. He curled into a ball and started sobbing. The Walrider hovered nearby; it wasn’t prepared for what its host might do. When Miles did lift his head he glared directly at the Swarm, “Never again,” he said in a voice that all but begged to be fucked with. “Never fucking do that again you sick monster.” He pushed himself to his knees. “I don’t care if I’m dying; I’m never eating human flesh again.” The Walrider looked into its host’s eyes as he spoke. “And you are never, ever, taking control of my body. Ever. Consider this moment of freedom your last, and I invite you to dwell on that for the rest of your godforsaken life.” The Walrider didn’t argue, it knew the truth when it heard it.

This stunt had shown Miles something. The Walrider was not his obedient pet, and he wasn’t as human as he thought he was.

He stood up to his full height, legs shaking and mouth filled with the coppery aftertaste of blood. His nose was saturated with the smell of raw meat and death. His stomach churned, stuffed with the meat of the man that laid ripped open before him. The urge to vomit was strong, but Miles forced down the bile in his throat. If he threw up now there was no doubt in his mind that the Walrider would make him eat more. He started for the door, not looking back, and found that with every step he grew stronger and more confident. The Walrider followed behind like a ghost he couldn’t get rid of.

Miles was vaguely aware of people in the halls, they parted when he walked by, hugging the wall and whimpering. He could see the black swirl of nanites surrounding his skin; he knew full well that he looked like a demon. Blood leaked down from his chin and dripped on his shirt, and his skin was lost in darkness. He was a monster inside a cage filled with other monsters. But they all knew who was king.

The first set of showers he came to he entered. He was too far gone to care about the dead body sharing his stall, and he didn’t mind the icy water that poured from the faucet. Miles let the water wash over him, clothes and all. He watched as blood swirled the drain and Miles tried to collect his thoughts before they joined it in an endless stream from his body.

 _I lost control. I lost control of the Walrider. I ate a human; I didn’t even need forcing past the first few bites. I eagerly ate that man. And they all know it. They know I am a monster. Fuck. This day started off so well too._ He knew the water couldn’t wash away what had happened. He was aware that even though he felt clean, he would never be clean again. He also knew that whatever happened he must never let himself become that hungry, or that weak again. Miles made a vow in that bloodied shower; he promised that the Walrider would never know true freedom again.

> Everyone in college always said you’d lose a piece of your humanity along with your faith in it when you go into journalism. I never thought it would turn out to be literal.  
>  -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.


	2. Those Left Behind Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was way too big to post as one thing, so I decided to split it up into parts.  
> The second part will be up in a few days. I still have to finishing editing it and formatting it.
> 
> As always, I appreciate comments and I'd love to know what you all think.  
> If you spot something wrong or wonky let me know, I strive to improve.

> “Forgotten things are perhaps the saddest objects in existence. Because really, if you think about it, their purpose is stripped and they become nothing. Forgotten people are worse, because they have ability to realize they’ve been left behind. That kind of shit dwells in a person and slowly eats them alive. I think that to be forgotten, truly forgotten, is worse than dying.”  
>  -From: Upshur Without a Paddle, the personal blog of Miles Upshur.

When Miles stepped out of the shower, soaked and miserable he wasn’t sure what to do. Now that he wasn’t hungry there was an empty spot in his brain.

Miles ended up blindly stumbling through the halls. He passed blood and gore without a second glance. At this point, after more than twenty-four hours of constantly seeing it, it had lost its impact. Organs and dead bodies were now as familiar as couches or doors. Even the Variants didn’t bother him anymore. At first he thought he should be afraid, but then he realized that most of them were afraid of him. He stopped when he reached a hall that was completely blocked by debris. The decrepit state of the asylum made Miles wonder just how long had passed since the security breach. Or rather, just how long was Murkoff neglecting any and all care for their patients?

His thoughts were interrupted by two voices, side by side, almost speaking as one.

“That’s the man Father Martin wanted us not to harm.”  
“It is.”  
“He’s not gone.”  
“No.”  
“What should we do? Kill him?”  
“Father Martin told us he was to spread the word.”  
“Doesn’t look like he’s doing that.”  
“No. I still want his liver.”  
“It is still yours.”  
“Mine.”

Miles turned around and saw the twins he met during his failed escape attempt. They were still naked, and still after him. “Shit,” Miles swore. They were blocking his only escape route.

“He’s trapped.”  
“Cornered. Hardly fair.”  
“We were fair before.”  
“True. When we kill him, I want his heart.”  
“Yours.”  
“Thank you.”  
“Sharing is caring.”

“Fuck, you guys don’t want to eat me, I’m gross and infected.” Miles pressed his back to the wall.

“Oh but we do.”  
“What about Father Martin? He asked us not to kill his apostle.”  
“Father Martin is dead.”  
“Who do we follow now?”  
“Ourselves.”  
“Ourselves.”

Miles’ hands moved behind him as he grasped for something to throw. They came up with a board, which he tossed as hard as he could before starting to climb the broken wood slabs and ruined chairs that blocked this section of the hallway. The board hit the first twin who let out a grunt of pain.

“Rude.”  
“Very.”

Miles was squeezing himself through a gap in the boards when he felt a hand grab his leg firmly. “Ho shit,” he was pulled back with a jerk. His hands scrambled to grab hold of something. He caught a bent pipe and held on. One twin was pulling while the other was watching, waiting. Miles kicked out with his other leg as hard as he could. He felt it connect with the man’s face and he grunted again, loosening his hold just enough for Miles to break free and finish climbing though the mess.

“After him.”  
“Of course.”

His breathing was long and steady. Miles didn’t feel fatigued at all. Part of him knew it was because he had just eaten, but he didn’t want to admit that. He seemed to fly through the hall, his feet hardly touching the ground. He vaulted over tables and other obstacles that were strewn about the ruined floor. “Why now? Why them? Out of all the damn Variants it had to be them.” Miles slid around a corner and kept running. “And why are they naked?” That was a question he really didn’t want answered.

He slowed to a jog and turned around, he didn’t see them anywhere, though he highly doubted he lost them just by climbing through a bunch of broken chunks of wood. When he turned back around he heard something else a bit more terrifying than a bunch of naked apes. It was the sound of a handsaw. And it was getting closer. “Ok, really, what did I do today?” He spun the other way and sprinted back down the hall. Just as he reached the intersection he saw the twins running directly for him.

Miles turned and ran through the only other hallway that didn’t have the sound of his impending doom in it. He came to a staircase that he jumped down and hit the floor in a roll. There was the sound of the twins grunting not too far behind him. Another corner was turned and another hallway dashed down. He couldn’t tell if they were gaining on him or not. Miles was fairly certain he could out sprint them, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep up the pace he was running at. Through all of this the Walrider was oddly absent. “A lot of fucking good that guy is,” Miles panted, “taking off when the going gets fucked.”

He spotted a door that was open slightly; he dashed for it and closed it behind him, managing to remember not to slam it for once. “Well shit,” he muttered. The room was empty. A folded table leaned against one wall, while the rest of it was vacant of anything else. There wasn’t even a vent he could scramble up.

Miles moved away from the door and backed against the wall. He slowed his breathing and prayed they’d just walk by.

“Where did he go?”  
“This hallway dead ends up ahead.”

_Shit._

“He must be in here then.”

_No don’t you fucking open this door. Don’t you fucking pick this one._

He watched the knob turn, and then the two twins stood once again blocking his only escape route.

“Really?” Miles said exasperated. “Really? You just had to, my god I’m fucked.”

“We will kill you now.”  
“We’ve waited long enough.”  
“I’ll go for his heart.”  
“And I his throat.”

Miles pressed himself further against the wall, he held his hands up, “Hey now, I’m unarmed, how fair is this?” They didn’t seem to be paying any attention. He felt his heart pick up the pace as he thought of ways he could get past them. They were big and the room Miles had trapped himself in was not.

He was trying his best not to shake, he was almost certain his legs were betraying him though. Miles was prepared to feel the cleaver that one of the twins carried rip through his stomach, or neck. The taller twin lifted him by his shirt collar and thrust him against the wall. There was a sharp pain as the cleaver was brought against his skin. It didn’t bite in too deep, but he could already feel the blood welling up.

His death would be quick, he hoped. Though if he remembered correctly they said they’d torture him slowly, but that was a few days ago. Surely they might have had a collective change of heart? Miles tried to take in another breath of air. The pain in his ribs had returned, it was slight, probably aggravated by running so much. Miles didn’t particularly want to die, not like this. He put a hand around the wrist of the twin, surprised by how strong his grip was. He began to notice the black nanite particles swirl around his arm.

“Do you see that?”  
“Yes.”  
“It’s not human.”  
“No.”  
“What is it?”  
“I do not know. It has black eyes now.”  
“And its skin is dark.”  
“Like a shadow.”  
“Like the Walrider.”

The big guy dropped him and Miles slid down the wall and caught his breath. They backed away slowly, a bit of fear reflected in their beady eyes.

Suddenly Miles was very thankful of his current state of possession. There were some Variants who did not know what he was yet, and apparently that could be used to his advantage. He wasn’t entirely sure how he made himself look more like the Walrider, but that could be figured out later. Right now he was more focused on convincing the two naked brothers not to slice him open and eat his insides.

 _What is it with cannibalism in this place?_ “That’s right, I’m the Walrider so don’t fuck with me.” His delivery was less than threatening and his voice wavered slightly. That cleaver still looked dangerous.

“He’s the Walrider.”  
“Doesn’t look like much.”  
“Father Martin must have known he’d be the one.”  
“Makes sense. That could be the reason we were told not to harm him.”  
“So do we kill him now? The Father is no longer here.”  
“No. We are not above the gods; we cannot kill one.”  
“We’ll spare him then?”  
“Yes. Serve him even.”  
“Agreed.”

 _Wow, fast turnover rate. I like it._ Miles was a bit taken aback at the situation; he thought they’d need more convincing. He stood there, looking slightly stupid while he waited for them to make a move. They, in turn, stared at him, waiting for him to do the same. “So, uh, what are you two called? Because honestly I’ve been calling you the Naked Twins in my head for a while now.”

“I am Allen,” said the one with more hair.  
“I am called Aaron,” Said the other.

“Great, and I’m the Walrider, of course you figured that out on your own.” He stuck his arm out again, watching the black swirling around the limb. He had to admit, it was pretty cool.

“Why did you run?”  
“You could have just killed us.”  
“The old Walrider would have spilled our guts.”  
“Used them as paint.”

Miles shifted uneasily, he didn’t want to give away the fact that he wasn’t always in control, nor was he that bloodthirsty. “Good followers are hard to find,” he stalled, “I was testing your abilities.” He hoped that sounded believable. Aaron and Allen seemed to be a bit smarter than the others, their personalities revealed sarcasm and humor to be traits they could display. He wouldn’t be fooling these two with parlor tricks or cheap words. “I don’t have use for those who can’t keep up. I needed to test your loyalty. Would you attack me? Would you try to kill me, the Walrider? I can’t have followers who think it wise to attempt to chop me up.”

They looked to each other before nodding.

“And what would you like us to do?”  
“Father Martin told us the Walrider will show us the way.”

 _Oh shit._ “For now, I would like to be left alone. You’ll receive instructions when you’re ready.” He took a deep breath and stepped forward towards them. The two brothers stepped aside and let him pass without any hesitation. He hoped he looked a bit more confident walking between them, but he still had the fear that they could see right through him. Miles wasn’t cut out for this. _I’m a reporter, not a pretend god._

After the encounter with the twins, he was eager to be back in the heart of the Administration Block. It was quieter there with less to worry about. When he got to his room he didn’t feel the desire to do more research, there was still sunlight outside he could read when it was dark. The window was open and he walked over to it. He was on the top floor and there was a small ledge outside the window. Miles peered out and looked up, the roof was quite close and he was pretty sure he could reach it if he jumped.

He stepped out onto the ledge and lifted himself up onto the roof. A brief second of fear passed through him, but he decided that if he fell to his death it wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen to him. He didn’t slip, or fall; instead he sat down and watched the front entrance. The sun was slipping behind the trees and everything seemed peaceful. The screams and wails of the tortured patients had died down and the smoke from the fire had vanished. There was no activity outside. Miles assumed at least a few people would make a break for the exit after the doors were opened, but it seems no one did. Or they did so while Miles wasn’t in the area.

The wind blew through his hair and the cool calmness felt good. He didn’t even care if his clothes were still damp and chilled him more than warmed. “Hey,” Miles said as he felt the Walrider appear beside him. The creature said nothing. They sat in silence for over an hour until the world around them started to darken. “Listen, I’ve been thinking…” Miles started, “I think we got off to a rocky start, let’s try again. My name is Miles Upshur.”

_“We are the Walrider.”_

Miles took a deep breath. “I am your host. I didn’t want to be, god knows I didn’t want to be, but here I am. And I understand that you probably didn’t want to choose me as your host, but we’re both stuck with each other now, so we should make the best of it.” There was more silence and it pierced through him like a bullet to the chest. A comparison he could actually make now. “I think there needs to be some ground rules,” Miles continued. “I don’t care what you think, or what others think, I’m human ok? I consider you a horrible parasite and I’m still human. I’m not a killer, and I’m not a cannibal.”

_“Billy never minded a little death.”_

He laughed, sharp and short. “You think this is a little death?” He gestured to the asylum. “We burned more than enough bodies to say a little is an understatement.”

_“We didn’t kill all of them.”_

“No, you didn’t,” Miles said, “you weren’t the only one on a murder spree, but you did kill a lot, and you won’t anymore. You will only kill if my life is in danger. Not for fun. You will not force me to do anything against my will; I’m not budging on that one.”

The Walrider shook its head. _“No, We will do the same thing if you weaken to the point of near death. We will preserve Our right to live.”_

He sighed, “Alright then, I’ll just have to make sure that I never reach that point. As long as I’m of sound mind you can’t do anything right? You have limited freedom?”

_“Correct. We can move on Our own accord unless you are giving Us exact instructions, but We cannot go far from you, and We cannot make complex decisions on Our own. You need to make those choices. We are bound to you, and you to Us.”_

“Right,” he pulled his knees up to his chest, “and you’ll protect me if I’m in danger?”

It nodded, _“We will also heal your body and extend its life.”_

“Well, it could be worse,” he stood up and stretched, “No more bodies though, that was sick.” Miles paused and asked, “Speaking of saving my ass, where the hell were you about two hours ago? I was in a bit of trouble and you were nowhere to be seen.”

_“What do you mean, Host? You were never in any danger.”_

“Like hell I was, did you see those two naked assholes? They were going to chop me up and eat my liver. If I didn’t start doing the weird shadowy, smoke of darkness thing they would have done it. Can I call you? Do you have an instant teleport command? How about a button I can push? Speed dial? Anything really is better than jack shit.”

 _“You can summon Us at any time, all you have to do is think the command.”_ It replied as if the knowledge was common and Miles was stupid.

Miles laughed, a bit bitter, “You say it as if it were that simple. Still doesn’t change the fact that you seemed more than willing to sit by and watch me die.”

 _“We would have interfered if you had willed it, or if you were damaged beyond your ability to think once more.”_ The Walrider shrugged, _“You manifested Our power on your own, We felt no need to step in.”_

“How exactly do I do all that? It seems random.”

_“It is something you must learn; right now you act on instinct. That will keep you alive, but to flourish you’ll need to practice. We suggest hunting.”_

“I veto that suggestion,” Miles said instantly. “Next time, don’t be afraid to just appear next to me when something like that happens. The fear factor alone is worth it.”

_“Understood.”_

Miles was making his way down the roof and was getting ready to swing back into the window when his foot slipped on mold and he was staring up at the sky as the roof moved further and further away. “Shit,” he swore under his breath and prepared himself for the impact and pain of breaking his back. _I wonder if the Walrider can heal a broken spine?_

It never happened, Miles was surrounded by Swarm. It resembled smoke, fog or perhaps sand. His body was lifted and placed gently on the ground without injury. _“Be more careful stupid human.”_ The Walrider scolded as it appeared next to Miles.

“Yeah no shit, thanks.” He was a bit shaken but otherwise ok. They walked back inside and found their room. Miles settled down in front of the computer and began raiding the Murkoff databases. A particular string of files caught his eye. They were all files on patients, but not just the regular admitted ones. There was a whole section devoted to former Murkoff employees that ended up in treatment after working for them.

He started opening as many as he could and took out his notebook to jot down notes. “Whoa shit,” he said leaning back, “that poor fucker on the table was right, Trager was an executive, I wonder what he did, it didn’t say.” He read more, “Shit they admitted so many of their own staff, it looks like literally anyone who threatened to quit...” He came across many names, David Annapurna, Dr. Samul, Dennis Lakemann, Sarah Harris, and Miles’ eyes were drawn to one particular name. “Waylon Park…” He didn't know why he was focusing on that particular name until he read the patient file. It said that he was caught sending out emails to journalists in the area. His hand shot out and grabbed a large stack of files he had collected throughout his failed escape attempt. “No fucking way. It's him. The dates of the email I received match the time he was captured. This is the guy who emailed me in the first place.” A quick glance at his file revealed that he was subjected to Morphogenic Engine therapy as punishment. “I wonder if he’s still alive? I should ask around. I’d love to sock him one for sending unsuspecting reporters to this death trap.” 

Miles got up from his chair and started towards the hall. _I need to find a printer; I’m not going to be able to take notes on all of this._ He remembered that downstairs there was a bank of computers behind some glass; perhaps there would be a printer there. He looked down over the railing noting the air was already fresher after removing most of the dead bodies. Which was good, he couldn’t imagine trying to live here with the constant smell of rot. Sure they might have missed one or two, but they were behind closed doors and the stink wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Miles wasn’t looking forward to traveling anywhere else in the asylum, he was fairly certain that no one would attempt to clean anything up. _I thought the first night was bad, give those bodies some time to cook and it’ll be impossible to get anywhere in here without a gasmask and biohazard suit._

The lights were still on, which was a good sign because that meant they were still feeding power into the building. Miles wondered when the people at Murkoff would finally cut the power and water, but hadn’t even a guess. The stairs were still lit and with night falling quickly he was glad for the extra help seeing. Once again he left his camera in the room, he didn’t have a way to charge it and he feared the supply of batteries would run out and leave him without anything. He wasn’t going to waste its energy on something as simple as a printer run.

Once inside the small office space he quickly spotted a line of printers and copiers. He could carry one but it was heavy and his ribs were starting to ache. The Walrider said he was in the process of setting all of his broken bones so he figured he shouldn’t exert himself anymore. “Walrider, get down here, I need your help.” He wasn’t sure if he needed to actually say something out loud, or if he could just think it, so he did both. The Walrider appeared soundlessly and without needing further instruction picked up the copy machine and started back towards the door. 

Miles was settled in once more in front of the computer. Attached to it now was the printer, which sat on a a small table on the left side of the desk. He spent the rest of the night cross referencing Murkoff’s files and printing out any patient information he found useful. He was trying to get to the bottom of what the people were being used for. Of course he knew the main goal was Project Walrider, but he wanted to know what exactly each part of the treatment was for. But it was getting later and later in the night and Miles’ eyes would go in and out of focus from tiredness. Eventually he had to stop for the night and go to sleep.

The next day started without any excitement. Miles was sitting at the computer desk reading through journals and books he dragged up from the library when there was a knock at his door. The sound startled him; he didn’t expect anyone to have the decency to knock at this place. “Yes?” He called to the door, “who’s there?” The Walrider was quick to appear alongside its host and balled its fists in aggression. “Settle down, whoever it is isn’t doing any harm.” He turned back to the door, “Come in.”

“Sorry to trouble you Walrider,” a voice said from the other side, it was a familiar voice. “We spoke yesterday, briefly,” he said pushing his way in. “There is something I think you need to know.”

“What’s your name?” Miles asked when he noticed it was the man from the fountain. “I didn’t ask yesterday, which was rude.”

He laughed, “David Annapurna, though there are few who would recognize that man if they saw me.”

“David Annapurna,” he echoed, “you used to work here, didn’t you?” Miles sat up straighter, “I read your file…”

“Yes, as an orderly, I tried to leave, trust me I tried. But each time I put in for a request I was denied. Apparently the last straw for Murkoff was when I threatened to go to the authorities, they weren’t too happy about that.” He crossed the room, eyeing the Walrider with extreme suspicion. “I haven’t been free since I signed that contract.”

“You aren’t alone,” Miles told him. He lifted a stack of papers out from under a book and said, “here are all the other lost souls that used to work for Murkoff. These people were all locked up and forced through things so horrible I don’t even want to think about it.”

“I thought so,” David said quietly, “I knew I couldn’t be the only person they did this to. A few of the other patients would talk about things like their unbelievable debts and they would swear up and down that they were sane.” He seemed to get lost in the memory, his eyes seeing something that Miles couldn’t. “I said the same, but you get used to being ignored, and you get used to the abuse. Even fellow coworkers of mine wouldn’t believe me, I hope they saw me as an example and kept their noses down.”

“What did you have to tell me?” Miles changed the subject; he didn’t want David thinking back on memories that were painful.

He straightened up, “There’s some place you need to see. I don’t know who else to tell and I’m not sure what you can do for these poor people, but I had to try.” He gave Miles a quick look, “I guess if anyone should decide anything anymore it should be the Walrider.”

“My name is Miles,” he said. “I’m not the Walrider, that’s the Walrider,” he pointed to the creature standing next to him. When talking to certain people he wanted to make the distinction clear. He wasn’t that monster, and he’d rather be dead if he had the choice. But he knew its strengths and he knew its power in the Asylum. Miles would use that to his every advantage if he had to.

“My apologies, I suppose then that the host of the Walrider would be the only one qualified to make the choices around here. Come on,” he turned his back, “and grab your camera, where we are going you need to film. You need to show this side of Murkoff too.”

Miles was a bit confused but he decided to trust David. There wasn’t much David could do to him anyways; with the Swarm under his control there wasn’t a soul in this establishment that could harm him. _Another side to Murkoff? This can’t be good._ “Where are we going?” He asked as they exited the Administration Block through the rear door. “And please don’t keep silent about it, I’m tired of secrets.”

“We are going to a hall that Murkoff keeps private from the rest of the complex,” David explained as he opened a hidden gate overgrown with vines. “There’s a place here that Murkoff only uses to cover their own asses. You said you were a reporter?”

“Yeah I am,” Miles followed him through the gate and into a different section of the yard.

“Well, this is where they would have taken you had you come during normal business hours.” He led Miles through several more gates; he had to take out a ring of keys to get through the last two. After they entered he locked the doors behind them. Finally they reached a building of three floors; it was nice and well-kept with flowers in garden boxes and fresh paint on the wall. The entrance was sealed but there was a keypad next to it.

David turned to face him, “Murkoff’s biggest weakness is their arrogance and overconfidence,” he placed his thumb on a scanner and entered a password. “They never even bothered to disable my passwords and access codes. This is the type of bigheadedness they showcase daily. I was locked up by them; so there was no way I’d ever escape right? So why bother changing anything?” David’s eyes locked with Miles’. “If you are going to expose them to the world, this is how you’ll do it. They don’t put passwords on their documents, the only security they have is hired on. I guarantee you they’ve already forgotten about Mount Massive and are moving on to something else. The asylum was on lockdown, and as far as the executives are concerned everyone inside is either dead or dying. They won’t check activity logs here, they won’t bother with the security cameras, they’ll label this place condemned and wait for everyone to die.”

Miles followed David through the door, “Why are we here?” His mind was reeling with the information David was rapid fire injecting into his brain.

“This place, above all others, will show you just how much Murkoff doesn’t care. Welcome to the Show Ward.” He stepped aside and opened his arms wide. “Here is a picture perfect hospital! No experiments, no mutations, no Engine, and no monsters!”

Miles quickly flipped on his camera, when David stepped aside he could see a double door behind a receptionist desk. He pushed the doors open and stepped inside. The layout was fairly simple; there was a rectangle hallway with an open middle area. There were rooms lining the rectangle, each with a sealed door and window. Everything was sterilized and white; nothing was broken or covered in gore. Each door had a nameplate on it and Miles stepped forward to examine them.

“Every single person in here is here for treatment. Real treatment. These people aren’t criminals; hell most of them aren’t even insane. Murkoff keeps them secluded from the rest of the facility,” David walked over to where Miles was standing. “I used to think it was because they didn’t want these people getting hurt, but now I understand the real reason.”

“You said this is where they’d take me,” David nodded, “I understand. These people are here to showcase the goodness inside Murkoff, the charity, the humanity. My god, it makes me sick.”

David walked down the hall, “This was where they started me, when I first transferred here. Then they moved me to the Male Ward, then later I moved into the Male Ward. I asked too many questions, I threatened too many things. I should have known better, I shouldn’t have said a damn word.”

“So none of these people know?” Miles asked, flipping a light switch. “They don’t know what Murkoff has been doing?”

The lights weren’t bright when they were turned on, like they were on a dimmer. “No,” David said sadly, “that’s why I brought you here. They don’t know anything and they’re probably confused and scared out of their minds. I’ve been watching the place for the past few days, there’s been no activity. They can’t get out, they can’t fend for themselves. What should we do?”

Miles swore and paced a bit, “Shit I don’t know. Let them out? We can let them out right?”

“We can, but what then? They’ll be ripped apart by the Variants. All this fresh meat is sure to get them excited.”

“Fuck. I’m just a journalist, I have no idea…” Miles continued pacing, which he realized probably wasn’t good for the recording. “You’re sure these people are your everyday human?”

David nodded, “As normal as you can be in a mental hospital. None of them are aggressive, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Right,” Miles walked past the row of doors, he tried not to notice the faces that appeared to watch him with eager eyes. He found a room in the back with a sign that said “security” he busted down the door and rummaged around inside. “Do you guys use old fashioned keys or are the doors electronically managed?”

“A bit of both,” David said stepping inside. “They used keycards, there’s a master one somewhere in this room.”

After a bit of searching Miles found it under a stack of papers, “Bingo,” he walked back out down the hall. He turned to David, “Do any of these names look familiar to you? Did you work with any of these patients?”

The other man started looking in the rooms before stopping at the door of one, “Yes, this one. His name is Jacob Paller, he had a problem with panic attacks and suicidal depression. I worked with him shortly before I was transferred out and into the Male Ward.”

“Great, Jacob it is,” Miles flashed the card and the door opened with manufactured smoothness.

Inside sat another man, older than Miles and slightly panicked. His eyes shot from Miles to David then back to Miles before resting on David. “D-David? I mean, Mr. Annapurna?”

“Yes,” he said in a quiet voice, like he was trying not to startle the man.

“If you’ll excuse me, but, what the hell happened to you?”

He laughed, “It’s a long story, but let’s just say I now have more in common with lab rats than humans.” David caught Jacob eyeing up Miles again, “This is the Wal-This is Miles Upshur,” he corrected hastily. “He’s a reporter and he’s here to help.”

“Where are all the doctors, David?” Jacob sounded worried, “we haven’t seen anyone in three days. I’ve been talking to the other patients, they haven’t seen anything either. Even the upper floors. I’m really worried,” the man got up from his bed, “Matt, next door, he has a heart condition, or was it blood pressure? I forget, but he needs his medication…”

“Oh shit,” Miles murmured.

“I haven’t heard anything from his room in a while,” Jacob continued, “I think he’s dead.”

Miles slipped back outside and peered into the room next door. As he expected the man inside did not look to be among the living. When he reappeared David gave him a look, Miles shook his head. “Are there any others that you know of with severe medical conditions?” David asked. “It’s been far too long since I’ve last set foot in here.”

Jacob didn’t know any more information, “They don’t let us get too friendly with the others, something about ‘focusing on our own personal growth’. I only know about Matt because he was in one of my support groups.” He frowned, “Something happened didn’t it David? I’m not stupid, none of us are. We’ve been drinking out of our sinks in the dark for three days.”

Miles didn’t say anything, neither did David. They didn’t know quite how to explain everything. “Was it zombies?” Jacob asked, “I always figured it would be zombies.”

With a laugh Miles dismissed that fear, “No it wasn’t zombies. Though zombies might honestly have been better.” He turned to David, “So do we let everyone out and just try to explain things?”

David hesitated in answering, “I don’t know…”

“They’ll listen to you,” Jacob offered up. “Even if you look like a freak, some of them will remember you. I’m desperate for answers and I know they are too.”

“Well, no time like the present,” Miles said shrugging, “besides, if they decide to start something I know I’ll be safe. It’s their own damn faults if they don’t listen to us and bust out here to get eaten.” It wasn’t the greatest plan, Miles had had better. He began to open door after door, while David and Jacob explained to everyone to gather in the main free space area. With everyone assembled Miles and David spoke from the front. “If we could have your attention,” Miles said above the nervous chatter.

“What’s happened?” Someone called.

“Where’s Dr. Smith?”

“Has anyone seen Sean?”

“We haven’t had a proper meal in days!”

“Where’s my medication?”

“Silence!” Miles shouted a bit too loud. He regretted it immediately because instead of calm collectedness, fear and panic began to reflect in the crowd. “I’m sorry everyone, just, calm down. Something happened and I’m trying to explain it to you the best I can.”

David took up speaking when Miles faltered, “I know some of you remember me, if not my appearance then my voice, I’m David Annapurna, I used to work here. Things are scary right now, and I’m not going to lie to you, it’s not going to get better, but I need you all to listen carefully to what we are about to say.”

“Murkoff has been lying to you,” Miles found his voice again. “They’ve been doing horrible things to the people here that are in other buildings.”

“That’s the reason for my disfigurement,” David spoke up. “The doctors,” he swore under his breath before continuing, “the people working for Murkoff have taken people and turned them into monsters.”

There were gasps and whispers that grew louder as Miles and David fell silent. “There was a security breach,” Miles continued. “During which a lot of people died. All of the staff are gone. That is the reason for your lack of care.”

“So they just left us?”

“Are we going to die?”

Miles cleared his throat, “Yes, you were forgotten. Murkoff cares nothing about you; they only care about saving their own shit encrusted asses. And no, I don’t think you are going to die, at least not all of you.” Miles was elbowed sharply in the side.

“What are we supposed to do now?”

Miles turned to David who shrugged and stayed silent. “Well…I can’t leave you here. The resources are running thin throughout Mount Massive. But I can’t let you lose in the asylum. The people that David described as being turned into monsters, well they’re out there. Free. And they will eat you.” He waited for the shocked cries to die down. “However there’s a bigger monster out there, one that preys on them. It doesn’t like senseless killing. It’ll protect you, probably.” Miles wasn’t all that sure if the Walrider could take on the whole asylum, but he was beginning to get an idea. “I’m thinking that if we can get everyone out before they notice we’ll be fine.”

“Then what?” David asked. “We get them out, then what do we do?”

“Leadville is down the mountain, about a day’s walk… I think we’ll send you to the town, to the nearest police office, and…shit I don’t know, get everyone transferred to another hospital,” He said as his plan started to fall apart in his head. “One that doesn’t fuck everyone over. You people can get real help.”

“And what of Murkoff?”

Miles fell silent, “I don’t…I don’t know yet. I’m thinking.”

“So you’re telling us,” One man stepped forward, “that we’re supposed to go out there with those, things,” he gestured at David, “pray they don’t eat us, and then walk to a damn police station. Sorry but I’m certified crazy and I know that idea is shit.”

Murmurs of agreement rose up from the crowd. Miles turned to David, “I don’t know what else to say,” he said.

David nodded, “Listen, can I have your attention one more time?” Silence fell once more, “When Murkoff took me away they did horrible things to me. That is the truth. I can tell you right now that beyond these doors is a hell unlike any other. Once you leave here you’ll be gambling with your life. But if you stay here you will die. Murkoff is not coming back for you. I remembered you were here; I brought Miles here to help. He doesn’t have all the answers, none of us do. But a plan is better than nothing. We can’t force you to do anything.”

Miles pulled David away for a few moments, “You’re sure these people aren’t the murdering type?”

“Yes, for the last time, yes. This ward was only for show.”

He rubbed the back of his head, “Ok, can I see documents? Do you know where that stuff might be? What about food for these people? Got any idea?”

“Yes to both. The documentation should be kept in a huge file cabinet in the director’s office, first floor on your right when you come in the main doors. The cafeteria should still be stocked, I’m not sure how much they stocked it, but there should be food in there.”

“Got it,” Miles addressed the crowd again. “I’m just a reporter, I can’t possibly know what to do, and I’m sorry about that. I’m sorry this happened to you and I’m sorry I don’t have all the answers. However, I’ve been told that your cafeteria isn’t ransacked and that you probably won’t break out in mass murder. Probably.” He shrugged, “My plan is shit, I know it’s shit. But it’s the best I have. If you all want to eat and talk then do so. I’m going to go over some files and fuck, I don’t know, come back tomorrow. If you want to take me up on my offer I’ll escort you through the asylum to the front gate.”

David took up the leadership position from then out, which Miles was thankful for. He told the patients where to go and that he’d be leaving correct medication doses in their rooms for them to return to. He even grabbed a few people for Miles to interview about their stay at Murkoff.

Miles stationed himself in the office that David had pointed out, and he did interview quite a few people. He had many questions, and they were eager to give answers. It was shocking how normal it was. These people were calm and had plenty of info. They said that Murkoff had strict schedules and good care. They never felt scared. However, a few people did note that sometimes doctors, orderlies, nurses, and even other patients would disappear without any notice. Everyone assumed they were just transferred or released.

The files checked out too, it was a relief to read patient bios that didn’t include parts about mutilation, murder, rape and assault. Miles was just finishing up printing a huge stack when David came back into the room. “Wal-Miles,” he said upon opening the door, “I need your help for a few minutes.”

He frowned at the casual slip but let it go, “Sure, what do you need?”

“I need someone to carry these trays of medication to the correct rooms,” he caught the unsure look in the reporters eyes, “don’t worry,” he added, “I labeled them all. You won’t get mixed up.”

Miles had just returned from placing a row of trays when he spotted David going through a few stocks of bottles. “You’re really good at this,” he said.

“Thanks, well, it was my job.” There was a sad air to his voice. “I loved this, you know? Helping people, working in a hospital setting, it’s what I wanted to do forever.”

“Hey,” Miles placed a hand on his shoulder, “maybe you’ll get to do it again, once we all get out of here.”

David laughed, “Yeah, because we both know that kind of future is for us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t lie to me and don’t lie to yourself, Walrider. You don’t trust yourself, I can see it, your eyes…they flicker sometimes. Mostly when you aren’t paying attention, they go black,” he watched Miles stiffen; “you aren’t who you were when you first came here. And as for me, do you honestly think anyone would hire someone like me? After working for Murkoff, and then after they experimented on me? If they can look past the disfigurement then they’ll have to deal with the extreme amount of post-traumatic stress I’ll suffer from.” He carried the last tray out the door and said one final thing, “We’re trapped here, both of us.”

The door shut behind him and Miles was left alone with his thoughts. It wasn’t new, he figured he wouldn’t allow himself to leave, at least not until he was in full control of the Walrider, and even then, maybe he wouldn’t. He wanted to get revenge on Murkoff, but that idea was seeming more and more impossible. There was a full body mirror along the wall and Miles glanced at it. He seemed normal, everything he saw looked human. But he knew it wasn’t. He knew it was a lie. He placed a hand on the surface and watched his skin turn to shadows and his eyes fill in with black. The Walrider appeared beside him.

_“Host what are you doing?”_

“Practicing,” Miles said. There was a long pause before he added, “Accepting.”

He knew it would take more than one look in a mirror for him to fully come to terms with what had happened. Miles stepped away from the mirror and put back on his human disguise, the Walrider vanished and he headed back to the office where the stack of papers he had printed were waiting for him. This place was a great discovery, not just for the people trapped inside, but for his case against Murkoff. The fact that they were hiding a building away just to show the press would be another blow to the company’s reputation. How could the public trust anything they said or showed when it could be a prop?

Miles was hoping that this would be one of the final nails in the coffin. The last one that he’d drive home would be himself. Living proof of a bioweapon created for nothing but pure profit and forged with countless tortured souls. He would be the one to bring this company to its knees, and he would be the one to show the world the true darkness that lived inside a human’s heart.

He just had to get out first.  
He just had to not become a monster.  
Easy, right?

Time seemed to slip by unnoticed to Miles. He was in the zone, so to speak; completely engrossed with his work. Miles was compiling and organizing files, and going through the interviews he just recorded. He was already forming the documents he was going to write up in his head. _This thing practically writes itself._ David let himself in quietly and stood by the door waiting for Miles to notice him. When he didn’t he cleared his throat. Black eyes shot up from the paperwork on the desk. “Oh,” Miles said pulling himself away from work, “what’s up David?”

“It’s the patients,” he started. “They uh, they want to leave now.”

> “Fuck this place. Have I said that before? There’s a block, a ward full of innocent people who have been left to die by Murkoff. Forgotten souls who are more scared than angry. Suddenly I have a lot more responsibility than I ever wanted. These people are counting on me. I’m afraid I’m going to let them down. I don’t want this.”  
>  -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I named the Twins since they didn't have a canon name, hope no one minded.  
> Also I used David, he's only mentioned in notes in Outlast but I figured he would make a good character to use and expand on.
> 
> Hey don't be afraid to leave comments on any of the older chapters! I'd still love to hear your thoughts!


	3. Those Left Behind Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The rest of this chapter turned out to be fairly large, so I split it up further into three chunks.

Survivors: The Aftermath at Mount Massive  
Those Left Behind Part Two

> "...I’m sorry, I’ve lost the point I was trying to make with this post. Ever since I was a kid I was told that family means everything. And for some people that’s the only truth they know. I didn’t want to be too cynical; sometimes I fear I just have a shit outlook on life. It’s hard not to. Sometimes when I do this job I feel like the world’s falling apart. But then walk past a diner and I see a mom and dad with three kids all sitting around a table smiling and I think that maybe that’s why I do this. Maybe I just want the world to be a better place for them. I see a mom dragging a kid behind her and fuck, I don’t know, it feels like the world is slipping a bit less. I forget that sometimes.”  
>  Excerpt From: Upshur Without a Paddle, the personal blog of Miles Upshur. (unpublished) 

“Now?” Miles repeated and stood up, “Fuck, really? How many?”

“All of them. Close to seventy, maybe more. They say that they’d rather risk dying out there than be stuck starving in here.” 

Miles scoffed, “I admire their courage, but this is foolish. Do we have a plan? Besides ‘open the door and let them run free?’” 

David took a seat in front of the desk and folded his arms on the table. “They’ll be slaughtered. They must leave Mount Massive as soon as possible.” 

“Right, so what do we tell the fine people of Leadville when we show up with a horde of crazies?” Miles could feel a headache coming on. “Fuck,” he muttered and searched his brain for an answer. “We can’t break the story now. We can’t.” He saw the confused look on David’s face. “I need more time to pull together a good case. One camera and a few documents isn’t going to mean jack shit if the company declares them all fake. If the story gets out before the proper amount of proof can be gathered we’ll lose everything.” 

“Well we’re in a bit of a bind then aren’t we?”

“You can say that again.” He saw David open his mouth to repeat what he just said. “But don’t, it’s a figure of speech.” David laughed a bit, more out of nerves than anything else. “What if we call ahead? I could call down to the police, say there’s been structural damage and we’re moving a few patients to a different hospital. That could explain away the smoke and fire that might have been visible, and the sudden need for a transfer.” Miles was impressed with the threadbare plan he had come up with. “And then we get someone to drive them all down in one of the abandoned Murkoff security vehicles. There are more than enough parked outside the front gate.” 

“I know a few people at the Leadville hospital, this might work,” David had a bit of hope but had to ask, “but who’s going to drive them? Do we even have enough vehicles? There’s got to be almost fifty people, a few trucks isn’t going to be near what we’ll need.”

Miles leaned back in his chair and said, “I was hoping you could drive… but shit you’re right, we’ll need a fleet of vans if they all decided they want out. We can discuss how to get them to Leadville when we figure out how to get them through the asylum in one piece. This will gather unwanted attention.” 

“Well you’re the Walrider, I’m sure you can tell the other Variants to leave us alone.” He didn’t see how it would become too much of a problem. The Variants were powerful but they were nothing compared to the horrifying power of the Walrider. 

“Yeah but at the cost of freaking out everyone we’re supposed to be protecting. They don’t know anything about the Walrider or about myself being the host. I don’t want them to panic and bolt,” Miles said. “I’m not so sure I want to go around exposing myself as the Walrider’s host either,” he admitted. “It’s not just because I don’t like the way they look at me, but because Murkoff had done well keeping this project a secret. The last thing I want is a bunch of people spreading rumors of the ‘Demon on the Mountain’ to others outside of this asylum.” 

David shrugged, “Anyone at the hospital will just ignore it as crazy visions from a damaged mind. Who would believe such a thing anyway? Sane or not? The idea of a monster living on a mountain is far too fantasy for most doctors or scientists to consider. I think it’s a risk you should be willing to make to save these people.” He was annoyed at Miles’ obsession with secrecy. To him, the protection of the other innocent lives meant more than keeping some secret. “How about this? You can go ahead and clear out the path and tell everyone to stay away. That way you can make use of your influence as the Walrider and none of these people will ever see or hear you.” 

“I guess that could work. I’ll go ahead and use a phone from the Administrative Block to call the hospital. It would make more sense that the call would come from there anyway. You’ll have to come with me to make sure I’m calling and saying the right things. I’ve never phoned in a fake hospital transfer.” 

“Neither have I,” he replied. 

Miles groaned and massaged his forehead trying to stop a headache from starting. “We should really do this tomorrow,” he said. “I need time to clear out the Administrative Block and the courtyard. I need to make sure that the patients stay out of the way before we lead these men through.” Miles got up from his chair and walked towards the door. “Is there any way you can talk them into waiting? Just one night, it’s all I ask. I need this time to prepare. There’s a good chance,” he added quieter, “there’s a good chance this will blow up in our faces. Even if we get them out, we could find ourselves in a whole heap of trouble if the sudden influx of patients causes suspicions to rise. We don’t need police officers here, and if they come, I don’t know what will happen.” 

“I’ll see what I can do,” he said glumly. “You go on ahead and start the process of clearing things out, I’ll go tell them the new plan and meet you by the Administrative Block when I’m finished.” 

Miles left David to tell the others what was going to happen. He slipped out the front door and walked to the first fence line. The gate was locked; David secured it when they entered. A quick glance at the sky revealed that the sun was making its way towards sunset. 

He placed a hand on the fence and looked up to see the top covered in barbed wire. “Great, just what I wanted to do today,” he grumbled and started climbing. The top of the fence was well over fifteen feet in the air, if he had to guess. Miles reached the top and paused, unsure about how to go about traversing the sharp spikes. He had broken into places before, but usually he was more prepared and had with him something to cover the wire. 

_“You are like a baby sometimes Host. Unable to do even the most simple task.”_  
  
“Oh shut up,” Miles grunted and shifted his weight to the balls of his feet. “I’m just thinking.” He added with a bit of a growl, “And this isn’t a baby’s task. Fuck you.” 

_“How did you manage to overcome Our influence? We have wondered this multiple times since merging with your body.”_

Miles started wriggling out of his shirt, “It must be my supreme mental capabilities. Or maybe I was just so done with everything that I wasn’t taking any more shit, even from you.” 

He had successfully taken off his shirt but before he could do anything with it he felt strong arms pull him off of the fence. His first instinct was to grab for the chain-link and hold tight. Realization hit quickly and he let go, allowing the Walrider to carry him over the obstacle and place him on the ground.

“Couldn’t you just fly me across to the courtyard? There’s like, fuck, three or four more fences.” 

_“I had to make it look like it was you who was making the progress. Your ego stroking thought process demands it.”_

Miles laughed, “That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve heard from you all day.” But he didn’t argue, instead he walked to the next set of fencing. “You’re really going to make me climb all the way up there just so you can lift me over the edge and to the other side? We could save a lot of time here.” 

The Walrider surrounded Miles, the black particles moving around in a way that obscured its features. _“You could easily order Us to take you across. You could command Us to do anything. All it takes is your thought.”_ Miles gulped. _“But you don’t,”_ the Walrider continued, _“instead you skitter around and give Us way too much freedom for someone who just vowed never to give it to Us.”_

“Nevermind that-“

Miles was cut off, _“Your fear of Us, of you, grows with each passing hour. We can feel it. And soon, if you don’t get a hold of yourself We will take over.”_

“Shut up.” 

_“How did you so eloquently put it before? Oh yeah, ‘Make Us’.”_  
  
Miles clenched his fists, hard enough to draw blood, “I said shut up!” At once the swarm vanished and the Walrider was left standing transfixed in front of its host. “Fucking take me to the Administrative Block you piece-of-shit-smart-ass-nanite-abomination.” 

_“Yes.”_ It replied blankly. It was if all emotion had drained from it. Miles felt himself lift into the air. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt before. If he had to describe it, the closest he could get would be that feeling of your stomach floating when you go down a steep hill on a rollercoaster or when you swing too high as a kid and drop much faster than you had intended. He almost screamed out, it wasn’t every day you find yourself thirty feet in the air in seconds. The Walrider deposited him on the ground next to the entrance to the Administrative Block. 

“Holy shit,” Miles said placing a hand over his mouth while he tried to calm his stomach. When he straightened up he noticed a group of Variants staring at him. He was fairly certain he didn’t look too threatening while attempting not to vomit, but they were still backing up. _Time to put on a damn show._ He glanced at the Walrider and forced it into view, and then he made the swarm swirl around him again. “I need you to carry a message for me,” he said in the direction of the Variants. “Tell everyone you know that the Administrative Block and all surrounding areas are off limits effective now until tomorrow at sunset. Trespassers will be killed on sight” When none of them moved he growled a bit louder, “Are you deaf? Move!” He sent the Walrider after them, with specific instructions not to harm, just frighten. He turned his attention to the actual building and blocked out the terrified shrieking coming from the Walrider’s newest toys. The darkness swirled around Miles as he moved about the building growling at anyone and everyone he came across. There weren’t many people left in this block to start with. It seems that most of them cleared out when Miles had moved in. They were smart. Eventually Miles got to a point where he figured the threat level was low. At the most he might have missed a handful of people. Not enough to cause a problem to a group as big as the one he was about to lead through here.

When he returned to the courtyard he saw David locking up the last door behind him. “Good god you’re terrifying,” he remarked jogging up to him. “I’m glad you’re on my side.” 

“For now,” Miles replied casually. When he saw the other man stiffen he laughed, “I’m joking.” He added when he saw that David didn’t laugh with him, “Shit, I really am. It was a joke, poor taste I know, but someone’s got to laugh at the shitty situation I’m in. Might as well be me.” He turned his back to the former Murkoff employee and said, “The main building should be cleared out, if it stays that way we should be able to herd them through without any resistance. The nearest phone is located in the offices on the ground floor.” Miles shifted uneasily from foot to foot, “Who’s going to call?”

“You, naturally, it’s your idea,” David said without missing a beat.

He hesitated before saying, “I make a living off of telling the truth. Lying does not come easy to me.” 

David stood alongside Miles, he looked into the man’s eyes, they were pitch black but there was emotion in there. “I could call the hospital, and the police station. I know more about how they work than you do anyway.” Miles may be a monster, but David could see that he still followed some of the principles he held so dear in his old life. It would be unfair to ask him to give up the last shreds of who he was. 

The walk to the office wasn’t exciting and the string of phone calls equally as uninteresting. It did take David a few tries before anyone would believe it was actually him. It was harder still to get them to listen and believe news of the large number of patients being transferred. There was a lot of convincing and a lot of Murkoff knowledge that was essential to make the calls work. If Miles had tried to do it alone he would have failed miserably. A few late nights on Wikipedia and online medical diagnosis sites does not make you an expert. 

They couldn’t decide if they wanted to tip off the police or not. On the upside they could help with the massive movement of people, on the downside they could ask questions that neither of them wanted asked. In the end they decided to forgo the early tip and plotted out a course that involved the lesser traveled areas of Leadville. Eventually they would have to cross into a more populated section; he just prayed that the added darkness of night would provide enough cover for groups of five or six to walk around unnoticed. 

The two headed back through the Administrative Block and into the courtyard. No one was around; it was quiet, almost peaceful. It was deceiving, if you didn’t know better you might actually think this was place was normal. But then you’d catch a glimpse of body parts in the grass and the aroma of decay. The illusion shatters and you would realize this was just another hell on earth. Miles was certain there were other places of extreme human cruelty, but one thing he did know was that Mount Massive would rank at the top of the top. 

There couldn’t be a worse place, could there?  
He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.  
But if he had one thing to bet, it would be that Murkoff would be the root cause. 

David started undoing the lock on the door. “I’ll stay with them for the night, make sure their nightly medication rounds are taken care of. I’ll meet you back here tomorrow morning, early. There aren’t many working clocks around but a little after sunrise should do.”

“Sounds good to me,” Miles said and gave a small wave as the other man slipped behind another set of fencing. Before heading back to his room Miles decided to do another sweep of the Administrative Block and the surrounding area. He didn’t wander too far down into the Male Ward, nor did he bother the people living in the rooms near the Chapel. They didn’t deserve to be chased from their own homes. It was hard enough finding a moment of peace in this place without Miles invading their privacy and displacing them. 

When he first passed through that area it seemed to be inhabited solely by Father Martin’s followers. He didn’t know much about the “Gospel of the Sand” but he knew he had become their deity and that sooner or later he’d have to have to deal with them. And he was betting it would be sooner rather than later. The Administrative Block was empty. Not a soul could be seen. Honestly it was an odd feeling for Miles. Everything seemed too still and too dead. He retreated to his room to do some reading. There were still a few hours before dark and Miles was certain he could pass the time with the files on the computer.

Throughout the rest of the day the Walrider was nowhere to be seen. After his little outburst at the gates and ordering it away it hadn’t come back. He was sure he could call it to him at any moment, but he never did. Miles simply didn’t feel like dealing with it. The Walrider wasn’t the worst conversation partner, but it wasn’t easy having it follow him around. It was exhausting. Part of him hoped that it had flown off and wouldn’t come back. But the static that lingered in the back of his mind prevented that idea from taking much flight. 

The static was actually something that Miles had begun to wonder about. When he first woke up it was unbearable. It seemed to press in on his brain from all sides and wouldn’t go away. He remembered what it felt like, a mostly dull aching throb that resonated throughout his body. But then when the Walrider started to talk to him it vanished. When it spoke the pain fell away and he could think clearly again. Miles had to know what it was and why it would come and go. As much as he disliked the idea of dragging the Walrider back to him, especially after enjoying the peace without it, he had to get answers. 

“Walrider,” Miles said quietly.

A shadow appeared beside him, _“Yes, host?”_

“I have a question. The static, do you know anything about it?”  
 _  
“We do not understand. What are you trying to ask?”_

Miles couldn’t find a way to explain it, “It’s like, in my head. This sound, this pressure, it makes my head hurt, it’s always there. Or rather, it’s always there now. It wasn’t before I saw you in the courtyard. Is it from you, or is it from the Morphogenic Engine?”

 _“Describe it again, host. We think We know what you mean.”_ It also vaguely remembered running into the startled reporter in the maintenance shed. 

“It’s like a humming in my head that won’t stop. It feels like a migraine that is always ready to blossom behind my eyes but never does. But it does stop sometimes…it stops when you are around and when you are talking to me. I can ignore it for the most part when you’re nearby. Why? What is it?” 

_”It is Our influence. Our voice,”_ it replied. _“Many of the patients here experience it. Mostly it drives them mad, sometimes it gives them strength.”_ The Walrider looked at Miles; it examined its host long and hard. _“For you, it might be the connection between us. You will always have that part of Us in your mind. It could lessen when We’re around or speaking to you because you can actually hear Us. The others cannot, to them We are nothing but a buzz that never stops. But you can hear Us.”_  
  
“Are there others?” Miles asked, “Are there more people who can hear you?”

_“We are sure, but We have not met one.”_

“What about Billy? Could he hear you?”

 _“Sometimes,”_ the Walrider remembered back to his old host, the poor kid who had experienced much sadness in his short life. _“It came, and it went. He wasn’t as good as you.”_  
  
“Comforting,” he commented under his breath.  
 _  
“It should be,”_ the Walrider replied casually. _“It means you are better and that you will not fail where he did. You will be stronger and better than any other human host We’ve had. You, Host, will survive.”_

For some reason those words were actually comforting to Miles. _I’ll live._ “We have a weird relationship, you know that Walrider? So far you’ve pissed me off more than once a day, yet I can’t stay mad at you. Fuck.”

 _“Well, We are a part of you, so that could explain some of it.”_  
  
“But I don’t want to be a part of you,” Miles groaned and rested his head on the desk. “I don’t want to worry about having a lapse of judgment that causes the deaths of hundreds. I don’t want to have to constantly hide myself; I don’t want to be trapped here for the rest of my goddamn life.” He sighed, “And I’m pretty sure you don’t want some weak ass human barking orders at you all day.” Miles lifted his head and examined the Walrider more closely. 

It was clear that it was well muscled and strong. It also seemed to be intelligent. The more Miles stared at its face the more he could pick out facial features. It had cavities where eyes would go, and slits where a nose could be. Its mouth didn’t look particularly functional, but it was there. The Walrider had to be intelligent. “It must suck to be you,” Miles said. “You have all this potential, but you can’t do a damn thing unless your host lets you. Shit, you drew the short stick in the game of life didn’t you?” 

The Walrider seemed to frown, _“You are not good with words, are you Host?”_  
  
Miles laughed long and hard, “And that, is where you are horribly mistaken. Being good with words has kept me alive my whole life.” _Too bad words can’t save me now._

_“Yet you still seem eager to anger Us. The, as you call Us, “monster” the “demon” and “killer” who, might We add, shares your body right now.”_

Miles smirked, “What are you going to do, kill me?” 

_“You have no idea how much the thought of that pleases Us.”_  
  
Miles was still laughing, “See? This is the shit I was talking about. You go from trying to support me, telling me that I will survive, that we will be great, blah blah blah, to threatening to kill me. Oh it’s fucking perfect. A perfect disaster.” 

The Walrider folded its arms across its chest. _“We do not see the humor in this Host. We would just like you to accept your fate and accept Us so we can be truly free.”_  
  
He pushed away from the computer, “Yeah good luck with that, I’m not all that eager to let you in. My promise before still stands, you won’t be free. Not completely that is.” Miles looked outside, the sun was setting and the asylum was growing silent again. “We should do one more sweep of the place before bed. I need to make sure people are following our orders.” 

The Walrider didn’t argue. It followed Miles through the door and down the hallway. _“You’ll need food soon, Host.”_  
  
Groaning Miles asked, “Why? We just ate.”

 _“That was yesterday, you haven’t eaten since.”_ The Walrider moved in front of its host. _“Unless you want me to take over again I would suggest you eat.”_

“Fine, yeah. After we’re done patrolling I’ll stop by that break room and grab something,” Miles said wearily. He hoped that constantly eating wouldn’t become a thing he’d have to do. 

Miles wasn’t sure if it was because of the time of day, or if it was because people were actually following his orders but the place was deserted. It was kind of nice to know he had such power. The electricity still hadn’t been cut, and that Miles was grateful for. He was almost certain that even with the Walrider on his side he would be freaked out about being in Mount Massive in total darkness without night vision. 

He crossed through the main opening of the Administrative Block and stopped by the huge double doors. “Walrider, can you do me a favor and hang back here? I’m going to shut the doors and lock them. I should have done this a few days ago, but my mind was a bit occupied.” 

_“We will stay here,”_ It said. _“Though you do not have to ask, you could just order.”_  
  
Miles groaned and started down the hall to the security room. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I order you to stand guard then.” Standing inside the security room brought up a slew of interesting feelings. This was where it started for Miles. Sure he could say that driving up the road was the start, or opening the email, but this was the true beginning in his mind. This was where Father Martin drugged him and dragged him into the center of the Asylum. It was in this room where he first encountered Chris, and this very room was the key to that other reporter's escape. 

For a ten by ten room its history was pretty impressive. He sat down at the computer and began to shift through actions. Eventually he came to the manual door override system. It didn’t take him long to lock the front doors. While he was at it he disabled the electric fencing around in the inner courtyards and recreation areas. “I didn’t even know this place had electric fences…” He thought about the ones he scaled early that day and shuddered. “I probably should have tested those before just jumping on them.” 

He jogged back down the hall and met up with the Walrider, who was still standing by the entrance. Miles said, “When we’re done escorting these people out I want to go back down to the labs.”

_“Why? Host We are uncomfortable down there. It’s too constricted, too cut off from the outside. We do not like it.”_

“I understand,” he said stepping over a forgotten corpse. “Throw that out the window would you?” The Walrider did so and Miles continued explaining, “I don’t have a lot of battery life and space left on my camera, but I want to document the basement more. The last time I was there was a bit of a blur. Between running from you, Chris, and trying to kill Billy…well there wasn’t much time for me to actually do my job.” 

_“We do not want you to go down there. We would much rather have you stay up here.”_ The Walrider wasn’t made nervous by much. It was confident in its own abilities, even if it didn’t share that confidence in its host. It was sure it could keep the human alive, but being down there brought back too many shared memories it didn’t like. 

The Walrider was a collection of nanites, it didn’t have a brain, it had nothing to store memories as a human would recognize. Instead it kept a part of itself within its host. Each time it changed hosts a bit of it was lost, but some of the experiences stayed. The Walrider had no nice recollections of the labs. The only remotely good thing it could recall was ripping apart scientists. Everything else was pain, confusion, fear, and anger. 

“Then you don’t have to come with me,” Miles said not really caring about what the Walrider thought. “I have a job to do, and I’m going to fucking do it. I didn’t come here to lose my fingers and my humanity and then just go home empty handed.”  
 _  
“Host We think-“_

“You can think all you want; I’m going to get all the dirt on Murkoff. Then I’m going to shut them down for good.” 

The Walrider nodded, it didn’t understand its host’s obsession with whatever he was trying to prove. But it could sense the determination within. _“We will not stop you. We doubt we could even if We tried. You are strong sometimes.”_ It flicked Miles in the back of his head, _“Though you are also weak. So very weak. Get stronger.”_

He rubbed his head, “Yeah, yeah, working on it. You try controlling a different entity. Shit’s hard ok?” 

The static in Miles’ mind rumbled, almost like a laugh, _“We have controlled others.”_

Miles gulped. “Ok time for a new subject.” They hit the outside air which was always refreshing. “Why don’t you like the labs?” 

_“Bad memories. Terrible things happened to Us. To Our hosts.”_ It drifted higher in the air, enjoying the freedom to fly. _“We are tied to the human who is hosting us. And for many, many years We were kept chained to humans who could hardly be called living. They were dead inside and out. They could give Us no orders, and We could not do anything. We hovered there, trapped underground for a time longer than you’ve been alive.”_ It dove down and surrounded Miles; its face inches from his. Miles jumped back a bit in shock, _“You are our first actual chance at life. And We will protect it at all costs. Remember that. Your body is not yours anymore, it’s Ours too.”_ The static in Miles’ head was intense. It seemed to fluctuate with the Walrider’s mood. _“Billy was close, but you are what we were looking for. We don’t really care if you hate us,”_ It gave a laugh again, _“Human emotions mean little to Us. Hate Us, love Us, it is all the same. But do understand you are now everything to Us.”_  
  
“Talk about your invasion of space,” Miles said uneasily. “I get it though, you want a chance, I guess that’s actually kinda admirable. I feel like I’m actually starting to understand you. Maybe we should argue more often,” he joked. “We seem to get some good dialogue going when we want nothing to do with each other.” 

Miles climbed up on some rubble and looked out over the fence line. A low fog was starting to gather around the ground. He could just make out the white building that he now understood held many innocent souls. Never did he think that this many lives would be directly influenced by his choices. “I didn’t sign up for this,” he muttered. “I’m just a damn reporter. I don’t know what to do…” 

_“You could always kill them,”_ The Walrider offered, most unhelpfully. 

“Yeaaah, no,” but he smiled at the monster’s attempt at helping. “So much is going to happen tomorrow. I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the other Variants, or the Gospel of the Sand followers, maybe David will have some ideas?”

 _“Perhaps,”_ The Walrider said quietly. It noticed the slight tremble in its host’s hands. _“Food. You need food now. Let’s go back inside.”_

“How can you tell? I feel pretty fine.” Miles jumped down from the pile of wood he was standing on and followed the Walrider back into the Administrative Block. 

_“You start to shake slightly when the cravings start.”_

Miles looked down at his hands, and sure enough they were shaking. “Well shit, I didn’t even notice.” He jogged up the stairs stretching out his legs. They raided the fridge; Miles took two of the bagged lunches out of the fridge leaving one more left. “We’re not going to be able to live off of these,” Miles stated.

 _“No, you will need much, much more.”_  
  
They headed back to their room and Miles flipped the light switch on. He flopped down on the couch and dug into the meal inside the bag. “Why do I need to eat all the time? I have a few guesses, but you know for sure.” He popped open a tab on a can of cola, and said flatly, “It’s getting annoying.” 

_“Your body has to produce Our cells and its own. The extra energy drain strains your human body and causes you to replace the lost energy at a rapid rate.”_  
  
“That’s about what I figured. So what happened yesterday? Why did I freak out like that?” He crushed the empty can in his hands and waited for the Walrider to speak.

It responded, _“Your body was dying. It was eating itself, and We wouldn’t allow that to happen. When you get hungry like that your body, under Our influence, will seek out and eat anything. Your mind will slip, which leads to your control over Us slipping.”_  
  
“Fantastic, so I have to eat a body a day?” Miles grumbled and drained the water bottle that was sitting next to him then moved to the leftover steak and potatoes in the other bag. “That’s a lot of food; you know how impossible this is going to be?”  
 _  
“We’ll figure something out.”_

Miles wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. When he finished eating he spent the rest of the night reading through the books he found in the library. A couple of interesting pages he scanned and printed for review later. It was late when the Walrider forced him to go to bed. Miles found it funny that he was being told to go to sleep. _I’m twenty six years old and I have a bedtime now. Fucking hilarious._

He was awoken by a sharp knocking on the door. Even though Miles knew who it had to be, he was still jolted into being alert and ready to defend himself. As he suspected it was David’s voice that sounded from the other side of the door. “Wal-Miles are you in there?”

“Yeah,” he replied, voice rough from sleeping. “Yeah I’m here,” he stretched and noticed light streaming in from the window. “Jesus fuck what time is it?” 

David pushed the door open as far as it would go before hitting the couch. “It’s a little past eight in the morning according to these clocks.” 

“Holy hell, sorry about that, I know we had an agreed time.” 

“It’s fine,” David said settling down in the office chair. “I waited for a while and when you didn’t show I went looking.” He eyed Miles, examining him. “You look like shit,” he observed. 

“Didn’t sleep well,” he said rubbing his eyes. It was true too, all night the Walrider kept him up. He knew it didn’t mean to, but the static that came off of it was incredibly noisy. It said it was because it was excited and when it got excited it tended to talk. Miles was too tired to decipher the actual words so it was just a steady stream of static all night long until the Walrider finally forced his body to shut down and sleep. But that didn’t happen till dawn was moments away. He yawned, “What’s first?”

“Well, how do you feel about cooking for about fifty men?” 

***


	4. Those Left Behind Part Three

Miles finished serving the last patient in line and collapsed back into a folding chair. “Holy shit that was a lot of eggs.” The kitchen in the abandoned ward hadn’t been ransacked yet. It was still fully stocked with enough food to last a few weeks if rationed correctly. He was already thinking about ways to make it work for him. _I’m leading these people out of here today, which would leave David and myself as the only other people here that have access to this place._ He glanced at the refrigerators and freezers and the well-stocked cabinets. Then he recalled what the Walrider had told him, about his new diet restrictions. This was a blessing in disguise. _No more dead bodies for this guy._  
  
David laughed at Miles’ exhaustion and handed him a tray with breakfast on it. “You did well. Who knows, if your whole reporter thing doesn’t pan out you could always be a cafeteria server.” 

He took the tray from David and headed to the containers of cooked food. Miles then scooped five more spoonfuls of eggs onto it, followed by five pieces of toast and four milk cartons. David watched him with one eyebrow raised, “What?” Miles asked annoyed.

“You got enough there?”

Miles looked away suddenly embarrassed, “I…uh, the Walrider told me I need to eat more, it said that my body requires more energy than the average human. But I’m not actually sure how much yet, so I’m guessing.” He watched as David’s eyes flicked from his face then down to the tray in his hands. It was then that Miles realized just how much food was piled on his plate. “Shit that is a lot,” he was about to put some back when the Walrider stopped him.

_“You need to eat all that and them some host.”_

“Fuck, you’re joking right?” he mumbled and started eating. It wasn’t kidding. 

David watched fascinated. “It talks to you. It talks to you and you can hear it. Amazing.”

“Yeah, amazing, it’s amazing how much it won’t shut up when I’m trying to sleep,” Miles glared right at the Walrider, “And it has the nerve to lecture me about going to bed on time. Talk about hypocritical.”

“All we hear is static in our heads, it’s an amazing gift.” 

Miles looked up from his mound of food, “Cool, I’ll get you one for Christmas.” 

It didn’t take long for Miles to finish eating, he felt slightly gross at how much he ate but his stomach hardly noticed. In fact, he was still hungry. He stretched and stood up, noticing that David did the same. “It’s about time we started getting everyone together,” David said from the other side of the table.

Miles agreed and walked with him into the cafeteria. It had come, the moment of truth; it was time to move the patients. Miles would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous. Three times he had done a sweep of the pathway from the secluded ward through to the Administrative Block, and three times it had come up empty. Not a soul to be found. That didn’t mean he wasn’t worried. There was no predicting the residents of Mount Massive.

Miles instructed David to go gather the survivors and lead them outside to the first gate, where Miles would be standing watch. When David left he turned to the Walrider, “Hey, I need you to watch the transport.” 

_“For what?”_

“If things go south I need you to protect the innocent,” Miles shifted his weight from foot to foot. He knew he held a great deal of power with the inhabitants now, but he wasn’t so sure his orders were firm. “Right now you’re invisible right?” 

The Walrider nodded, _“Only you can see me unaided right now. That is how I stay most of the time.”_

“Right, and I can force you into visibility, just like the nanite swarm that surrounds me, correct?”

It nodded again, _“This is all true. We are as visible as you want Us to be.”_

“Good. I might need to use that later,” he was uneasy while he waited for David to return. It took him a few minutes to lead the men outside. Miles turned and addressed them all. “The way to the Administration Block is clear. If we move quickly we should encounter very little resistance from the residents of Mount Massive. Once outside you’ll see the main road, it leads straight into Leadville. David should have covered what you’ll do once you reach the city.” 

The plan was crazy but they didn’t have many other options. They could try to steal the remaining security force cars but that would raise too much attention in town. Instead they decided on breaking the group of patients into smaller portions then heading to the hospital. Help was pre-arranged and the transfer should go off without a hitch. At least, that’s what Miles hoped. 

They moved through the gated off area in rows, three across and twenty or so deep. David led the way; Miles flanked them from the left and the Walrider on the right. However, only Miles could see their shadowy guardian. The first few gates were a breeze; no one even glanced out a window. It was when they entered the main courtyard that things got tricky. A few of the bodies weren’t burnt on the fire that Miles made the day prior. The sheltered patients caught glimpses of them through the grass and started getting antsy. That was combined with the stench and it became clear that they would bolt at any sound. 

The death that shattered the illusion of normality wasn’t the worst of it. The Variants started appearing. One by one they came into view, though most stood far away. They knew who gave the orders to clear the area; they knew exactly who was leading the fresh meat through the asylum. A few were clearly willing to challenge those demands and the person who issued them to see what the commotion was about. Miles frowned. He signaled to the Walrider to go to him. “Hey,” he whispered in an attempt not to alert the others that he was talking to air. “We need to get these guys away,” Miles added hastily as the Walrider headed towards the first Variant, “in the most non-violent and messy way possible please.” 

It almost seemed to groan but obeyed. In an instant the black Swarm appeared around the group and swirled them protectively. The Walrider himself stayed invisible but the Variants got the message and kept their distance. 

“Miles, is that y…” David trailed off, he remembered about Miles’ obsession with hiding himself.

Miles understood what he was getting at, “It’s fine,” he replied in a loud voice. Some of the others were beginning to panic. “Remember when I said there was a monster here? One that wouldn’t stand by as innocents were slaughtered? This is what I was referring to.” He gestured to the swirling ‘dust’ around them. “Don’t be afraid, just keep moving.” 

They didn’t need any extra encouragement and the pace quickened. When David reached the doors and pried them open he stopped, “Miles,” he said and for the first time his voice wavered, “I think we uh, have a problem.” 

“What? What now?” He shouldered his way through and his jaw dropped when he saw what was before him. Three lines of Variants and patients alike stood between them and freedom. And more were waiting in the shadows as they approached. “The hell?” He swore.

“I thought you said the way would be clear,” he was clearly irritated and a bit afraid.

Miles swore again, “I thought it would be. I guess the word of the Walrider isn’t that powerful anymore.” 

“It’s probably because you aren’t Billy,” David said.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Fuck it, we can discuss that later,” Miles stepped forward, hesitantly David followed suit leading the others. 

A Variant approached them from the group; he was big and mutilated but spoke with a voice that was strong. “What is going on here?” It was clear this one was their elected leader. As he stepped forward Miles could see more and more patients flood into the room. They seemed to come out of the woodwork, like insects. 

Miles took a deep breath, “I am escorting these people out of Mount Massive.” 

“And why should they get to leave? In fact, who are they? I’ve never seen them,” he turned to the people standing behind him, “how about any of you? Do these faces look familiar to you?” 

“Nope.”

“None of them.”

“Strangers.” 

“I see…” He strode forward and stood not more than a foot from Miles. “A little shadow told us to clear out of here, do you have any idea what that was about?” 

“I have a few guesses,” Miles tried to be casual. “If you would like to discuss this we can, but just let them through.” When the man didn’t budge he added, “It would be extremely beneficial to you if you would move.” The man seemed unaffected by the subtle shift in Miles’ tone. “Bloodshed is not my goal.” 

“If they go free,” the man started, “we all go free.” 

“No,” Mile’s reply was instant. 

“Then we are allowed to do with them what we please. They aren’t leaving here alive.” He turned to address the crowd, “It seems as that the Walrider has brought us a gift! Fresh meat!”

“No,” Mile’s said again. “They are not on the menu, and they are innocent.” 

The man smiled wide, a grotesque display of failed dentistry. “Aren’t we all innocent here? When you get down to it, aren’t we all just victims? Why are they deserving of anything other than death?”

“To put it bluntly,” Miles said in a voice near a growl, “This is Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane.” There was something in him that was giving him strength and he tried to make himself look a bit bigger as he continued, “These people aren’t here because of a court order, or because they were causing problems at the last institute they were at. They aren’t murderers, they haven’t done anything. Which…is something I can’t say for you guys.” 

“You make a lot of generalizations Walrider.” 

“My name isn’t Walrider, its Miles Upshur,” he snarled. “I can make these claims because I’ve seen what you guys have been up to since the breach and it hasn’t been pretty. Murder, cannibalism, mutilation and torture. You guys really haven’t been holding back.” 

David heard a couple of people behind him start murmuring, “What’s a Walrider?” and “Are we going to die?”

He tried to comfort them, “No, of course not, you’re all going to make it through this.” He looked back towards Miles who was still boldly standing up to the Variants. David thought, ‘Miles can handle himself, right? He’s the Walrider he could kill all these people if he wanted to…couldn’t he?’ Suddenly he was a bit uneasy. During the outbreak he didn’t really see much of the Walrider, it stuck to wards where he wasn’t. But he did see the destruction it left behind. ‘That power couldn’t be beaten…right?’ 

If he squinted David could just make out the swirling nanites around Miles’ body. He wondered if anyone else could see them too. “The Walrider is the guardian of this Asylum,” he said to the whole group, but he wasn’t focused on them, he was watching Miles. “It used to be a force of destruction, but now it protects.”

“David?” It was Jacob who was talking. “Are you ok? That sounds…that sounds too crazy.” 

“Am I ok?” He echoed to himself, “No, I don’t think I am.” David laughed and tried to fake a smile, “Sometimes you have to believe in the craziest shit, because sometimes that’s what turns out to be true.”

There was more murmuring amongst them, Jacob shifted awkwardly and addressed David again, “We’re all going to die here, aren’t we?”

Instead of answering with the blind faith he had, David opted for a more truthful approach, “Maybe. I can’t say for sure. It all depends on how well Miles can negotiate with monsters.”

“And why should some reporter have the power to change anything here? You’re putting a lot of faith into one man.” 

“You’d be surprised by how much man can make all the difference. Especially this man.” David watched the scene unfold before them with unwavering interest. He was betting their lives on Miles and on the Walrider. If the Walrider, if their own deity couldn’t save them, he didn’t know what could.

The Variant was becoming more and more enraged as he talked with Miles. “You think we wanted to do those things? Do you think you are somehow above us? Do you think you are better in some way?”

“Yes, in fact I do.” Miles took another breath to calm himself down. He was getting too aggressive and he wasn’t about to let the darker part of him take over the conflict. “I…I know that a lot of you didn’t want to do what you’ve been forced to do. This isn’t your fault, but on the flip side, there are plenty of you who would love to kill and kill and kill. Unfortunately I can’t tell who is who, so no one is leaving here.” 

“What about them?” The Variant spit in the direction of the people from the Secret Ward.

Miles shrugged, “What about them? They have documentation proving who they are. You guys don’t. It’s really that simple.” 

“I don’t believe this bullshit,” The Variant turned to the crowd, “Are you listening to this? The great Walrider is condemning us to death. I for one, am not going to sit and wait to die. He doesn’t seem too big, there are more of us, I say we kill him.” 

David spoke up from behind Miles, “This isn’t looking good,” he commented.

“Yeah no shit,” Miles said and urged David to fall back. 

Before he ducked back David asked, “Think you can take them?”

Miles laughed; it was a cropped thing that wasn’t uplifting in its tone. David shuddered. “Take them? Yeah. I could. Easily.” And he knew it too; Miles understood the power that Walrider had. It was power that he now had. All it would take to end all these lives was one simple command. One order and all of it could stop. _It would be simple. So why am I hesitating?_

He didn’t have to answer his self-posed question because someone shouted from the crowd, “Are you stupid? Fight the Walrider? You’ll be torn to pieces.” 

“It’s not the Walrider right now,” someone else shouted back. “It’s a human, we can kill those. It said it itself, we’re good at killing humans.” 

“That would be unwise,” said a deep voice from behind Miles.  
“Very unwise,” said a similar voice.  
“The Walrider is a god.”  
“They think they are above gods.”  
“They think they are above us.”  
“That’s rather rude.”  
“I’d say so.”

Never in all of Miles’ life had he been more overjoyed to see two huge naked men. “Allen, Aaron thank god you’re here.” 

“We are not alone Walrider.”  
“We brought friends.” 

Sure enough people started emerging from the crowd to stand behind Miles and form a protective circle around the innocent patients. “You cannot challenge the Walrider. He is the highest power here, a gift; you should be bowing in respect.” 

Miles wasn’t so sure all that praise was necessary but he already felt stronger. The room was almost an equal divide between those who followed him and those who stood against him. “Would you look at that,” Miles said grinning, “it seems I’m not alone anymore.” 

“You think a hiding behind a few of your supporters is going to do anything? All that’s happened just enforces something we’ve all known from the start,” he paused clearly for dramatics. “It’s us verses you. It always had been.” 

“And you think you have a chance against us? Against the Walrider?” Miles asked.

The Variant held his gaze steadily, “There’s not much of a choice now, is there?”

Tension in the room escalated as each side waited for a command to attack. Miles could practically feel the eyes that bore into his body. They were waiting for him to give the word. Once again he was given the opportunity to kill countless people. All it would take was his word. 

Before hell could break loose one man was bold enough to step forward from the ranks. He wasn’t that tall or muscular, but it was clear he had gone through the Engine more than a few times. His face was disfigured and what hair he had left was in ragged clumps. “Walrider,” he started, “You said before…you said that you just needed proof that we weren’t bad people right? If we could give you some proof would you let us go?”

“Yeah, if you have documentation and proof that who are you are now is the same as who you were then…I could see letting you join the others.” 

“Walrider, Sir, I beg of you to give some of us a chance.” He kept walking, “Not all of us ended up here because we were murderers, like you said. Some of us still want help; some of us still want to get out.” 

Miles turned his full attention to the Variant, “Who are you?” 

“My name is Daniel Evans and Sir, I have a daughter,” he stood unflinching before everyone in the clearing. He held between twisted hands a stack of letters. “Murkoff, they let me write to her. They let me write to Taylor and they even let her write back. They told me if I performed well I could see her. I know,” he stared at the floor and his shoulders slumped, “I know they were lying. But now I could…I could actually get help and maybe I could get well enough to see her.” Miles didn’t know what to say; when the man met his gaze again he felt nothing but overwhelming pity for him. “I can’t get better if I’m trapped here. Please, there are others like me,” he said coming closer, he thrust some of the letters into Miles’ hands.

To him, they seemed real enough, the man seemed to be telling the truth and it was tearing Miles in half. “Fuck,” he mumbled. He didn’t have time to read through all the letters, but he could see the handwriting on them, most in pencil, some in crayon, some with little drawings and elementary school photos. “Fuck,” he repeated. _What do I do?_

David rested an arm on his shoulder, “Miles, perhaps we should think this through a little more. Maybe he’s right and there are some good men here. Good men who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

“Men like you,” he concluded. As he handed Daniel back his letters he said, “I need paperwork, I need documentation, I can’t just…I want to help you, I really do…but I need more than your word. Do you understand? Do you have proof beyond these letters?” 

He shook his head, “I don’t, but you do.” 

“What do you mean?” 

Daniel clutched the letters to his chest, “You found what you needed to mark them as innocent men, I’m sure you could do the same for us.” 

“You’d only need their names,” David said quietly. “He’s right; we have access to almost piece of Murkoff tech in this asylum.” 

He thought for a moment. When he looked back around the room he found that some of the angry and aggressive Variants had changed their disposition. There was still a divide between those who obeyed the Walrider’s order and those who did not. That division wouldn’t be disappearing any time soon, but perhaps an all-out war between the two could be avoided. 

Miles cleared his throat and raised his voice above the crowd. “I know what I’m about to say won’t please everyone, but I realize that no matter how hard I try that would be impossible. I’ve decided to give everyone in Mount Massive a chance at redemption.” He walked over to the main reception desk and rummaged around for a notebook and pens. “Write your name down on this piece of paper. I will take the names and go through what Murkoff has on file. If you come out clean you can leave with the rest of them for real treatment. If not, then you’re back at square one and it’s me vs you. If that’s really how you want to play it.” Miles could see some anger flare in the eyes of the others. “However,” Miles said a bit louder, “Mount Massive is a huge place; I can’t possibly keep watch over all of it.” 

Some of the Variants understood what he was purposing. It wasn’t the go ahead to leave through the front door where the Walrider could see them, but it was the sly admittance to the fact that Miles couldn’t be everywhere at once. If they wanted out there would be plenty of opportunities. 

“Furthermore, I would like you to spread the word around to the other parts of asylum, let everyone know what is going on. By now most of you are aware that I live in this block, it shouldn’t be too hard to track me down. Anyone else wishing to leave for treatment should come find me.” He jabbed a finger backward towards the innocent men from the long secluded ward. “As for the fresh meat…you are not to touch them. I’m not backing down on that.” 

Miles spoke to Allen and Aaron, “I need you two to stay here and watch over these people. Do not let them be killed.” 

“If that is what you desire Walrider,” Allen said.  
“Then we shall protect them.” 

“You won’t be alone,” Miles added, “I’ll have the Walrider stand guard with you.” 

_“Host that is a very stupid idea. What if you-“_

“Do you honestly think that harm will befall me? I’ll be reading documents all day, not very dangerous.” 

_“We do not think it’s the documents that would harm you.”_

“Oh my god,” Miles said a bit exasperated, “I’m going upstairs, literally fifty fucking feet away from you. There’s only one goddamn staircase and the chances of a hoard of Variants running past unnoticed are slim to none. And if,” Miles held up his finger, “if by some by some twisted miracle an army is coming for me, it takes you less than three heartbeats to appear at my side. What could possibly fucking go wrong?” 

_“We are not answering that. We are going to stay by your side until We are sure you are ok.”_

Miles ground the heel of his hand into his eyes, “Fuck, fine, whatever. Come with me then.” He turned his attention back to the Twins. “You two, stay here, watch over them, get some of your ‘friends’ to help you.” He started walking towards the back door when David joined him. 

“That’s it? You’re just going to leave them?” 

“Yes?” Miles was getting a little frustrated with everything. “Yes I am. They’ll be fine. Most of the hostility is gone anyways, I can’t do anymore. I can’t be in every fucking place at once.” He pushed open the door and said, “We need to head back to the other ward so I can grab their documentation. I’ll pick up the new list of names when I go up to my room.” As soon as the door closed behind them Miles’ energy and confidence drained. He started shaking and had to steady himself against the wall before sliding down to the ground. 

“Miles? Are you ok?” 

“No,” he said softly. 

David sat down next to him. He could tell the other was close to hyperventilating and he didn’t know how to comfort him. “What’s wrong?” For all his training to work with people he felt utterly useless. But how do you help something that isn’t even human? 

“Everything. I can’t do this.” Miles drew his legs up and pushed his face into them. 

“Of course you can, you’re the-“ 

“I can’t fucking do this. I’m not what you think I am. I’m a reporter, this is too much.” 

David swallowed, “I think, for the record, you’re doing a great job.” 

He lifted his head, “Thanks.” He stared at the sky, it was clear and blue. It was a deceptively peaceful day. “There’s too many of them to have walk into town. We need to think of something else.” 

“There’s…there’s a bus, in the back. I’ve seen it used to transport the convicts to Mount Massive. They keep it parked near the back entrance to the labs. I might have been just an orderly, but I saw a lot of stuff during my time here.” He stood up and pointed out past the fences and Prison Block. “If you head that way you should see a service road that goes around to the back end of the labs. There’s a vehicle storage garage and the bus should be in there.” 

Miles’ eyes went to where David had pointed. “That’s an awful long way to walk,” he stated. “It’s going to take forever.” 

“Well I’ll go collect the files and grab the list of names while you go get the bus. I’ll start going through the list and cross out the bad eggs. It should take a few hours to get the list verified and finalized, you’ll have plenty of time.” 

“Better than nothing I suppose.” He looked up to see David extending his hand down to help him up. 

“I know you didn’t sign up for this,” he said pulling Miles to his feet. The reporter was still shaking and he looked feint. “But I’m glad you’re here, if you weren’t, well things would be a lot worse.” 

“I’m just not used to having the lives of hundreds at my fingertips.” 

“Understandable.” He patted Miles’ back and said, “Go on, get the bus. I’ll handle the paperwork for now.” 

Miles nodded and headed off towards the first set of fences. “You gonna help me out Walrider? Or am I going to have to do this myself?” 

The Walrider appeared next to Miles, _“We told you before; there is no asking for Us.”_ It jabbed Miles with a long finger. _“If you want something, tell Us to do it. You are in control, not Us. If you keep giving Us freedom We’ll get stronger.”_

“R-Right.” 

_“And stop shaking. We did not pick you for Our new host because you whimpered like a whipped dog.”_

“You do realize that this is way beyond anything I’ve ever had to do right? And that any normal person would have cracked long ago? Or maybe I am fucking crazy,” his head hurt and talking to the Walrider wasn’t making it any better. “Just help me up ok? We need to get across these fences to where David pointed.” 

It swirled around Miles and he felt its hands grab him around the chest and haul him up. This time the sudden change in altitude didn’t freak Miles out so bad. _“You haven’t gone crazy Host, in case you were wondering.”_  
  
“And you’re the expert on the human mind now?” 

_“We do live in one. You are not gone and you have not cracked. We picked you because We knew you would not break. It was…it was actually convenient how perfect you were. Like a gift delivered to Us personally. Just in time for Billy to die.”_  
  
“Wow go me.” Miles chanced a glance down at the ground. “Uh, Walrider aren’t we a bit too high for this?” 

_“Nonsense Host. How else are you going to learn to fly?”_  
  
That got Miles to panic. “Wait, what? No, no, no, no! I can’t fly. Walrider I’m human! In case you didn’t know humans can’t fly!” 

_“You are not human, not all the way. We can fly, so you will fly as well.”_

“I’m not fucking made of nanites! I’ll fall to my death!” He struggled a bit in the Walrider’s arms. “Put me down right now, right fucking now!” There was that laugh, that crackle in the static once more. “Wait, shit, no, that’s not what I-“ 

The Walrider dropped its host and listened to the high pitched scream he let out as he plummeted towards the ground. This was all so very amusing to the Walrider. It followed Miles down and spoke calmly. _“Host, you need to concentrate now, you need to command the Swarm. We have seen you do it before so We know you can.”_

Miles kept screaming. 

_“Host!”_

“Fucking save me you piece of shit!” The words were yanked from his mouth and lost to air that rushed past. 

_“Host you need to focus.”_

“What the fuck is the Swarm going to do? It’s mist it can’t save me!” He saw the ground that was now swiftly approaching. “Shiiiiit.” 

The Walrider laughed through the static again. _“Do you honestly think We are that weak? Do you not remember how We picked you up and tossed you around the lab like you were nothing? Now you think that same power can’t hold your body up now? Foolish creature.”_

Miles could start to make out details on the roofs of the buildings. His heart had stopped beating in his throat and he was feeling a bit more relaxed about his impending death. “Ok, fuck, fine. Let’s pretend this will work. How do I go about saving my ass?” 

_“Focus Host, focus on Us, focus on you. We are one, you and Us. Just think about stopping your body, think about the Swarm surrounding you and We will do the rest.”_

He swore and tried to keep the panic at bay as he fell. “Shit, shit, shit, shit…” Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that the Walrider would not actually let any harm befall him. It would save him before he hit the ground, it wouldn’t be that easy to die and leave this place forever. The leaves on the trees were now becoming clear and he could feel an anxious wave ripple through the Walrider’s static. Miles closed his eyes and tried to do what the Walrider had instructed him. He remembered the feeling of the Swarm from the first few moments of becoming the host. The memory was foggy but familiar. He used the Swarm that day for a few things, it tore into his enemies and it also pushed his Jeep through the gates and down the road. That particular memory was clearer than the others. Miles grabbed onto that memory and how it felt to command the Swarm. When he opened his eyes he nearly screamed out of pure shock. His face was only a few feet from a line of barbed wire. But he didn’t get any closer to it, in fact he wasn’t moving at all. 

_“Well done Host.”_ The Walrider said beside him. _“We were worried you would not be able to do it, but you have proved Us wrong. Come now, we must find this shelter you are looking for.”_

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, slow the fuck down. Follow you? How? Shit I’m barely hanging on here.” 

The Walrider grabbed his hand, and said, _“Just tell the Swarm where you want to go. It is like walking. Hurry up; your body cannot sustain this kind of activity for long.”_

“Like walking it says, fuck me.” Miles let himself be dragged along behind the Walrider. He only dropped in altitude twice the whole way there. The asylum passed them at an alarming speed and when Miles looked around he finally began to realize just how big the facility at Mount Massive was. They spotted the covered garage landed just outside. The Walrider touched the ground with an almost graceful elegance that Miles inherited none of. Instead he fell the last five feet and landed in a crumpled heap next to the Walrider. “Not doing that again.” 

_“Yes you are. You will do that and much more.”_ The Walrider glanced down at its host. He was stronger than Billy, stronger and smarter and the Walrider knew that this would be the host that would make its life worth living. _“Besides, Host, We noticed that you quite enjoyed the experience.”_

Miles picked himself up and walked on shaking legs to the garage. “Yeah maybe when I wasn’t falling to my doom.” He could see that the Walrider seemed rather pleased, “Fine. You’re right, when I did get the hang of it, it was sorta almost a little bit fun. We’re looking for a bus by the way,” he told the Walrider, “preferably a big one and one with keys. You do know what a bus is right?” 

_“Yes, We are familiar with the object. We learn much from your mind.”_  
  
“Stay out of there; I don’t want you rooting around inside my head.” Miles walked into the building and noticed the lack of security as well as the lack of dead bodies. “So I’m guessing the shit storm didn’t reach here. Lucky bastards.” 

They continued past a row of what looked like garden maintenance vehicles. There were water trucks, pickups and backhoes, then they moved past a section of security vehicles that hadn’t been deployed around the asylum and lastly a section that stopped Miles dead in his tracks. There were a group of odd cars and trucks tucked away in the back. A white sign hung from the rope barrier that said “Confiscated Employee Vehicles”. Miles stepped over the ropes and walked among the cars. Some were dirty and had little messages written in the dust, “wash me” “off roader” or a little picture of a cat face, while some were in pristine condition. Miles imagined a spouse or child writing the messages on their loved one car only to have them never come home. 

There were two cars that caught his eye in particular. One was a silver Audi with a license plate that read “BUDDY 1”. Miles rolled his eyes and laughed. He knew exactly who this car belonged to; he called it days ago in a message scribbled in his notebook. “Can’t believe I was right; wonder if the golf clubs are in the back?” The car was in pristine condition, like it had never seen a drop of rain. It was a stark comparison to the vehicle next to it. 

It was a rundown thing, with a life’s story written in the scratches and dents that covered the metal panels. Mud was caked under the wheel wells and the windshield was cracked. However when Miles walked around it he noticed other things, a child seat in the back, empty coffee cups on the floor and a bunch of crayon drawings taped all around the dashboard. There were pictures stick figures standing under a smiling sun, a little dog with a bone, and a picture of the moon. The rear of the vehicle revealed that a set of stickers had been placed on the rear window. A little stick person family, there was a mom, a dad, and two little boys. 

Miles placed his hand over the stickers. “It’s easy to forget sometimes,” he said when the Walrider came to stand next to him. “It’s easy to forget that these people had families. There are people who are long dead in there who said ‘see you after work’ and never came home.” His emotions were conflicted and he didn’t know quite how to feel. “Sure some of these guys must have been assholes, but they were somebody’s kid, somebody’s significant other, and now they’re a smear of blood on the wall. Or,” he said while looking back at the Audi, “they were turned into something much, much worse.” 

The Walrider noticed that Miles was shaking again, it wasn’t sure if it was because of the flying lesson or if was because his host was filled with anger. Most likely it was a combination of both. _“We should find what we came here for, Host.”_

“Yeah, you’re right, come on, there’s another half we haven’t looked at yet.” On the opposite side of the garage were some more emergency vehicles and a guard station. Up against the back wall was a short bus, it wasn’t yellow like the ones he remembered taking to school every day. This one was a drab brown with white lettering that said “Mount Massive” on the sides. Miles forced the door open and stepped in. The bus was seemed to be in good condition, the seats were nice and clean and nothing seemed outwardly broken. He hopped off and walked towards the guard post and started rooting around. Finally Miles spotted a body; a single guard was on the floor, his head an unrecognizable mush next to him. “Your work?” Miles questioned. 

_“No, We did not do this.”_ The Walrider moved past Miles and opened a mini fridge. He tossed his host a can of soda and rummaged around the desk for something else. He found a bag of chips and threw that at Miles as well. _“You’re getting hungry again. You’ll need a better meal soon if you want to hang onto your control.”_

“Noted,” Miles said between mouthfuls of stale chips. He dropped the bag when it was empty and drained the soda. “Go check the number on the side of the bus would you?” Miles was staring at wall of keys, they were all labeled with a section and number. The buses seemed to go up to five, but three of them didn’t appear to be in the garage. 

_“It said two on the side.”_

“Perfect,” he snatched the keys and turned to the Walrider. “Do you want to go for a ride?” 

Murkoff spared no expense on their immaculate laboratory under the asylum; the same could not be said for the service road that ran around the place. The Bus jerked and bounced all over the tiny one lane road and Miles was torn between fearing for their safety and having a blast. He had never driven a bus, but he assumed it was much like his Jeep. The clutch took a bit to get used to but shifting came easy. However the steering and suspension were bad enough to almost send them careening down the mountainside once or twice. 

Miles was also pretty sure that this particular bus shouldn’t be going over fifty miles an hour down the piss poor excuse for a road. When they pulled up to the front of the asylum the Walrider actually looked concerned. It had its claws dug into a seat cushion and was braced for impact. Miles laughed and motioned for it to follow him out of the bus, “What you don’t like car rides?” 

_“You are much too reckless. That machine was not meant for the top speeds that we reached.”_  
  
“I’m reckless? You dropped me from a height of more than fifty feet without even confirming that I would survive.” He pushed the front doors open and was thankful to see that chaos hadn’t broken out again. He walked over to Aaron and Allen to ask how things were going. However when he stepped near he heard screams and watched as the group backed up further against the wall. “What?” But it didn’t take long for Miles to understand their fear. The Walrider was standing next to him. Miles could always see it and that caused him to forget that most of the time anyone else could not. “Shit,” Miles held up his hands to show them they meant no harm. 

“So remember that monster I was telling you about? The one that circled us in the courtyard?” The terrified men pressed themselves together. “Well, that was me…sorta, it’s hard to explain. This is the Walrider, it won’t hurt any of you.” 

Unsurprisingly none of the men relaxed, instead Allen and Aaron walked over. 

“Greetings Walrider.”  
“We thought you’d never come.”  
“It is true then; that this man is the new vessel.”  
“We are forever in your service.” 

The Walrider ignored them; it didn’t care about other humans. Miles spoke in his place, “Everything ok here?” 

“Yes.”  
“Nobody has caused trouble.” 

“That’s good, keep it up.” He glanced from the huddled men to the Walrider, “Now that the cat’s out of the bag I’m going to leave the Walrider here with you. It’ll help keep any undesirable things from happening.” 

_“Host-“_

“Do not start with me Walrider. Stay here, it’s an order.” He stalked off towards the staircase and was relieved to find that the Walrider didn’t follow him. It was rooted in place next to the twins. He took one last look back at the lobby before proceeding to his room. The people he was protecting were scared but they didn’t run. 

He didn’t knock on his door; it was his room he shouldn’t have to. David hardly glanced up at him. “You’re back early; did you run there or something?” 

“No, flew actually.” 

David lifted his head from the paper he was reading, “You’re shitting me. You can fly now?” 

Miles shrugged. “The Walrider just showed me how. Check it out.” He closed his eyes so he could focus on the feeling of having his body lift from the ground. It was an odd sensation that he had trouble pinning down. Commanding the Swarm was different than telling the Walrider what to do. The Swarm didn’t have a voice and it seemed to respond easier to his commands. Perhaps he was losing a bit of control over the Walrider? 

That troubling thought had to wait because he felt the nanites pick him up. He could only hover a few feet off the ground before exhaustion washed over him and he dropped. “It’s going to take some getting used to, but hey, at least this part of our connection is worth something.” He laughed and opened his eyes. “…David?” The other man was staring at him wide eyed. Miles took a step back; it looked like he was afraid of him. “You ok?” 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he said while running a hand through his hair. “You have no idea do you?” 

“No? Spit it out David, what’s got you so nervous.” David didn’t need to answer, he was pretty sure he knew what was wrong. “It’s me, isn’t it? Shit.” 

“You should find a mirror and do that trick of yours.” 

Miles wasn’t sure he wanted to. “That bad?” 

He nodded. “You come out of it pretty quickly; I don’t think you realize what you’re doing or what you look like.” David was trying to be casual but the sight of Miles manifesting the powers and appearance of a monster left him unnerved. “You really do look like the Walrider. But with more hair and less open bone, and you get the benefit of wearing clothes.” 

“Thank god for that,” Miles said sitting down across from David. “I would hate to have to walk around this place naked too.” He glanced at his arms, which were pale and familiar. “I just, shit you’re right I don’t know when I’m doing it. In fact, I just freaked everyone out downstairs by talking with the Walrider and I forgot make it so no one could see him.” Miles reached for the list of names, “I guess it doesn’t matter, I’m a monster of a human. It’s something I have to live with I guess.” His eyes read over the names, “Is this it? I thought there would be more.” 

“Yeah, me too. I guess more people weren’t as interested in help as they were about being set free.” David pointed to some crossed out names. “I took the liberty of crossing out a few names I recognized. Those guys are bad eggs; I don’t care what their file says. I hope my word is enough.” 

“You lived with these guys, and before that cared for them. I think you know more than I do to be honest.” 

The work was slow going; Miles took the list and started scanning through people and reading information logs. Most of the names on the list where of good people and they stayed good even though they were tortured. “Hey,” David spoke up, “could you look up someone for me? I heard rumors he was admitted as a patient and I want to make sure.” 

“Sure thing,” Miles tabbed over and started a new search, “who are you looking for?” 

“A man named Richard Trager.” 

Miles had to choke back a laugh, “That ass? I can tell you first hand that he was in fact thoroughly fucked up.” 

“Good.” 

He raised an eyebrow, “Good? What did the guy to do you?” 

David balled his hands up in the fabric of his pants, “He’s the one responsible for me being here. If it weren’t for him I would be back with my wife at home.” Miles wanted to reach over and put a hand on his shoulder, but he knew that his sympathy wouldn’t be appreciated. “I hope he went through the Engine, the bastard. He was also so smug about everything, like he-“ 

“Enjoyed the smell of his own farts?” Miles finished with a laugh. “Yeah he went through the Engine, a few times from the looks of it.” 

“So you saw him?” 

Miles wiggled his remaining fingers, “More than saw him. He relieved me a few appendages, said he was showing me the dream.” 

“I didn’t know,” David replied, he couldn’t look at Miles’ butchered hand. 

“Of course not, how could you? Just like I didn’t know he was the ass responsible for ruining your life,” Miles closed the extra tab and went through the list of incarcerated Murkoff staff. “If it makes you feel any better, he died a horrible death.” 

“How?” 

This time the laugh that escaped his lips was genuine. “Here,” he passed his camera over and said, “skip ahead to 3 hours and 46 minutes. That should brighten up your day. Oh,” Miles added, “after you watch read this note I took.” 

He could hear his camcorder playing back the footage he shot a few days ago. A chill went down his spine when he heard some of Trager’s mutterings. Then there was the soft sound of David laughing, and then he practically exploded after reading what Miles had put on the paper. “Oh my god,” he said between gasps, “you’re an ass.” 

“Journalism at its finest.” 

He passed the camcorder back and took a moment to gather himself. “You’re right though, I do feel better.” 

Now it was Miles who spoke up, “Question for you, have you heard of a guy named Waylon Park?” 

“No,” he answered. “I don’t recall ever hearing that name, why?” 

Miles turned away from the computer, “He used to work for Murkoff. He ended up in a situation similar to yours. He called bullshit on the crap Murkoff was doing and emailed a bunch of reporters. It turns out the date he got thrown in here happens to match when I received an email from an anonymous worker here at this fine establishment. Unfortunately the idiot got caught and sent to Engine Therapy. His test results say he was responding positively to it. Doesn’t look like he lost his mind, but then again he wasn’t put the Engine either.” 

“Poor guy, hope he kept his head down, maybe he’s out there somewhere.” 

“I’d love to punch his face,” Miles said with a smirk, “I’ll put him on the list of people who can leave. Provided we don’t find him eating some sorry bastard.” 

\“Yeah no kidding, cannibalism seems to be the go to solution for most problems here.” David stood up and grabbed the phone. “Before you ask, I’m calling the hospital. They need an update.” Miles understood and was a bit disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He listened in on David, it was hard not to. “…yes, by bus, that’s correct. The fire damaged a part of the foundation and we need to move more patients than previously thought. Sorry…yes, I understand. There will be a member of our staff with them and they will all have the proper documentation. No, no not at all we at Murkoff Psychiatric would be more than happy to. Yes. Oh, and one last thing. Some of these people have been severely abused at one point in their lives; many of them are horribly disfigured. If you could inform the doctors and orderlies who are on call when we arrive of this information that would be great. I would like to avoid a situation where they are put down, especially since they are trying very hard to make progress with their conditions. I’ll make sure proper medication charts are attached to each person’s file. No, no, thank you. Yes, of course, good bye.” 

“Everything ok?” 

“Yes, fine. I’ll need computer access for a bit, you don’t mind do you? There are a lot of sheets I have to print off.” 

Before Miles could answer a scream tore through the asylum. Moments later the Walrider came rushing in. _“Host, someone killed one of your little pets. You might want to check it out.”_

“Motherfuckers it’s only been a few hours.” Miles was out of his seat and running for the door. 

David looked from the Walrider to Miles who was already disappearing down the hall. “Wait, what happened? Miles?” 

The shadows whipped around Miles and he ran faster reaching the guardrail in record time. He placed one hand on it and vaulted over, falling towards the ground floor. The Walrider caught him before he hit the ground, _“Give Us warning before you do that Host,”_ it said. 

Miles ignored it though; he was a flurry of rage and darkness. “What the fuck is going on here?” He glared at the group of people surrounding a dead body. The Twins were off to the side, one was pressing a piece of cloth to the side of his brother. He saw one of the Variants gnawing on an arm like a chew toy. The owner of the arm was sliced open and spread out across the floor. In the corner stood the patients he had promised to protect. They were huddled together so tightly it was as if they thought they could disappear just by holding still. 

“I thought I told you fuckers not to touch them! Did I not make myself clear?” Miles was a monster of hot fury, he reached out with the Walrider and the man eating the arm exploded into tiny bits. It might have been overkill, but it got his point across. The Variants backed off giving Miles a wide birth. He walked slowly towards the people he had promised he’d save. The darkness left his skin and eyes; and he looked like any other man. “I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I should have stayed; I should have made sure this didn’t happen.” 

The men backed away from him. He sighed and said, “I know, demon, I got it.” Then he turned back to the Variants that were scattered throughout the room. “Are you all starving to death? Or are you just incapable of following the most basic of instructions? I would have thought avoiding pissing off the asylum guardian would be a number one priority, but I guess not.” 

David caught up and looked from Miles to the gore then back to Miles, “Someone got creative.” 

“Shut up, did you bring that list? I think we need to move this along a bit faster.” 

“No, I still have a lot of work to do Miles. We need to organize the files and attach medication information. We don’t even have the list finalized.” 

“Well we need to do something,” his eyes were drawn to the center desk. “Ok, go upstairs and grab everything we were working on, you can set it down over there and we’ll work from here. That way I can stop everyone from eating each other. Sound good?” 

“Yes,” David faltered, “I can’t carry everything; do you want me to make trips?” 

“Take the Walrider.” David’s eyes grew wide in fear, “Relax, it’ll be docile as a kitten. Walrider, go with David, carry whatever he tells you.” 

_“You’ll be ok Host?”_

Miles flashed him a smile made of sharp teeth, “I’ll be fine. Go quickly.” 

When they had disappeared upstairs he sent word out that the remaining Variants should gather in the Administrative Block. It didn’t take long; most of them had stuck around. Soon the small group began to grow bigger and bigger. Miles explained the situation and what was going to be happening. 

While he was waiting a man approached him from behind. “Miles was it?” 

“Yeah?” He looked over to see Jacob inching closer to him. 

“Thanks, for you know…stopping that man.” 

“Ha,” Miles said coldly, “I shouldn’t be thanked for something like that.” 

“Well, I’m thanking you.” There was a bit of silence before he said something more, “What happened here? I didn’t think humans were capable of this.” 

“Shit Jacob, I’m still trying to figure that out myself. It seems like the further I dig the more lost I become.” He could see the other man was watching the Variants with unease. “Listen, here at Mount Massive horrible things were done to these men. Most of them weren’t monsters before, most of them were driven to this. They’re trapped here and they don’t know what to do.” 

“What about you?” Miles hesitated in answering. “You’re just a reporter right? How did you end up like this?” 

“Wrong place at the really wrong time.” 

Jacob hopped up on the counter next to Miles, “And you’re just going to let some of these men free?” 

“Like I said before, not everyone here was a monster and not everyone here wants to become one. There are quite a few good men mixed in this mess.” 

“You don’t want to become one do you?” 

“No,” Miles said quietly. “But I think it’s much too late for me.” 

Even though he just witnessed Miles kill a person, and despite watching his skin shift from pale to black to pale again Jacob still said, “I don’t think so.” He slid off the counter and went to rejoin the others. 

David returned and set to work printing files and handing them to Miles. “Staple one set of each of these papers to every patient file. I’ll be reading the names off fast, so try to keep up.” Miles nodded and fumbled with the stapler, David meant business. He worked with a professionalism that Miles thought was long dead to the asylum. “Ok this is the last one, if we did this right they should be in alphabetical order, so you can just read the names at the top each of folder.” 

“Right, damn that went faster than I thought.” 

“Well some of us went to school for this type of thing,” he looked around at the Variants and the blood, “Maybe not the exact situation as this…but close.” 

Miles used the Walrider to get everyone’s attention. “I’ll begin reading through the names of the approved patients now. If you hear your name please step forward so we can confirm your identity then you can stand with the others behind me.” He warned them all, “If you try to falsify who you are I will kill you. My bullshit meter is maxed out, don’t push me.” 

Miles started reading through the list, “David Annapurna, Antony Brook, Joseph Baily, William Carver, … Daniel Harris, Merle Johnson, … Waylon Park, … Morgan Saul,” he continued to read names and watch as men stepped forward when called. He didn’t notice Waylon come forward or Dr. Morgan Saul. Miles had to stifle a laugh as the other patients moved away from the Variants. Clearly they were uncomfortable just being in the same room with them. 

“Now then,” Miles addressed the rest of the Variants, “They’ll all be leaving through the front door, none of you will follow them out, I guarantee it.” 

“Fair enough,” one of them said. “We’ll just find our own way out. We don’t need the stupid fucking Walrider’s permission to leave.” 

“Good that’s what I was hoping you’d do. Now that that is settled, David, would you be so kind as to start leading these men out? The bus should be open. I’ll be staying here.” 

“You’re not coming with us?” Someone asked Miles. 

“No I’m not.” Miles replied. “Someone has to keep order around here. And besides, I’m not fit for the outside world.” 

“Who’s going to protect us from them if you’re not there?” There was a slight edge and panic to their voices. It was amusing to Miles that they would prefer the company of the Walrider to that of the Variants. He supposed it wasn’t all that surprising, the Walrider hadn’t preyed upon them, but the patients of Mount Massive had. 

“Lucky for you there’ll be no need of monsters or protectors when you get out of this godforsaken place.” Miles pointed towards the bus, “Make it to that bus and you’ll be home free.” 

“I…I’m not going either Miles,” said David from where he was still sitting. 

“Wait, what? No you have to go,” Miles protested. “We need someone to drive the bus, you said it yourself, there needs to be a member of the staff with them when they reach the hospital.” 

David shifted, “Well it’s not going to be me, I’ve decided that I’m not fit enough to leave here.” 

“Bull fucking shit,” Miles turned on David anger flaring, “You have every right to leave here a free man, take the opportunity. Not fit my ass, look around you David there are plenty of men here that aren’t fit to leave and you aren’t one of them.” 

“No.” 

“You’re fucking this up David, get on the bus.” 

He rested his chin on his hand, “I refuse,” he looked almost bored as he said it. 

“Then who’s going to take these men off the grounds? Who’s going to explain to the nice people of Leadville why there’s a bus full of mental hospital patients?” 

A new voice, so full of fear it practically dripped off of every word, sounded from behind the Variants. “I, uh I will,” it said. Every head turned to the back of the room where a very scared security guard made his way through the people. 

“Who are you?” Miles asked raising an eyebrow. He doubted anything could surprise him further. 

“James,” he said, “long story short, I think I’m the only surviving security guard here.” 

Miles grinned, impressed. “Wow, didn’t think any of you would still be alive. You’re a miracle on legs. How’d you do it?” He was genuinely intrigued. The only live security guards he had seen were only breathing for a few seconds before they were brutally murdered. Some got their faces smashed in against the walls, while others just had their faces ripped clean off. But somehow, somehow this guy managed to make it not just through the outbreak, but through several days and nights of the aftermath. Miracle on legs indeed. 

“Well, I wanted to call for backup, outside help, as soon as the riot started. But my partner disagreed and threatened to kill me if I radioed for help. So I left him and found a room in the Male Ward to hide in. There were rumors of a safe haven inside the Administrative block, but I didn’t want to risk leaving my spot. I stayed under a bed for three days until I heard the commotion down here.” He rubbed the back of head, clearly debating if it was a smart idea to reveal himself now. “I uh, I would like to leave, I’ve been listening the whole time, I’m sure I could drive the bus down mountain. They’re heading to the Leadville hospital right? A guard should work just as well as an orderly, right? 

Miles nodded. “Yeah, that could work…what do you think David?” 

“He’s the best shot we have, and besides he’d be dead if he stayed here. Not many are too friendly when it comes to Murkoff staff." 

“True,” Miles said jumping down. “Then it’s settled.” He tossed the keys to the bus to the security guard. David handed him the stack of files and helped some of the patients onto the bus. Miles stood watch by the door, the Walrider was right beside him. Allen and Aaron approached them warily. 

“We are sorry Walrider,” Allen said.  
“We are also sorry Walrider’s Host.”  
“You trusted us to stand watch and we failed.”  
“You may punish us as you see fit.” 

Miles waved them away, “I’m not going to punish you, shit you were probably outnumbered.” He shot a look at the Walrider, “And it probably didn’t help you did it?” They shook their heads. “So it’s not your fault, not all of it anyways. I should have been there.” 

“You are too kind.”  
“Much too kind.”  
“We will not fail you next time.” 

They left and Miles glared at the Walrider again, “I’m going to have a few words with you when this is over.” 

_“We look forward to it, Host.”_  
  
Miles hated the tone the Walrider had taken with him. It was almost like it was trying to be smug. An attitude adjustment was definitely in order. The other Variants cleared out of the Administrative Block as soon as the bus started to depart. The excitement was over for the day. Miles hadn’t ever felt so exhausted. He sat down on the front steps of the asylum and watched the bus disappear around the bend. 

“You know?” Miles said to David when he sat down next to him. “This is the second time I’ve had to watch a vehicle drive away to freedom.”

> “Today was one hell of a day. So much happened, too much happened. Yet the only thing that sticks out in my mind is this: I can fly. Crazy world right?”  
>  -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of "Those Left Behind". 
> 
> There are a few fun references to canon in this chapter. I hinted at a few other things too, lets see if people catch em.  
> As always, if anyone spots something that could use some fixing up please let me know. I want this story to be one my best, and I'm always open to suggestions. I love hearing from readers so please tell me what you think. 
> 
> Also, I edited the first part of Those Left Behind. There were two things I caught, neither of them affect the plot. The first was a slip up I made with Miles mentioning Waylon and recognizing his name, even though the email was anonymous so he couldn't have known about Waylon. The second was a section where I had the Walrider refer to itself in first person. Those have been corrected.


	5. Don't Get Attached to It

> “Let’s talk roommates for moment. Have you ever had a really bad roommate? I’m not talking about the one that occasionally left dirty underwear laying around in the living room. I mean the flat out rude, gross, bumbling ass-hat who somehow had enough brains to power their meat slab. The one that invades your space and uses all your toothpaste. That’s the kind of roommate I’m dealing with now. I can’t go into details, but let’s just say that I don’t have much privacy anymore.”  
>  -From: Upshur Without a Paddle, the personal blog of Miles Upshur. (unpublished)

“You should have taken the chance at freedom.” Miles lifted his cue and lined up a shot.

The ball missed and Miles hissed in annoyance. “And you should butt out of lives that aren’t yours.” David leaned on the pool table and took his shot. 

“But the opportunity was right there, there was nothing stopping you.” He watched his opponents next two shots sink before it was his turn again. “I don’t understand why you stayed here. Why would anyone want to stay here?” 

“Someone has to keep you company,” David said and watched Miles sink another ball. “Nice shot,” he commented. 

“I don’t need watching over like a child.” He missed and waited for David to make a move. “Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“Don’t you?” The question was shot back almost as quickly as the ball moved across the table. 

“Of course,” Miles replied instantly. “I just…” he glanced at the Walrider who was watching them from the corner of the deserted recreation room. “I need time, that’s all.” 

“Well maybe that’s all I need too. Time.” David followed Miles’ eyes to the corner. He couldn’t see anything so he asked, “Is it over there? The Walrider?”

“Yeah,” he answered. “It’s your turn.” 

David took his turn. There were only a few more balls for each of them to score. Miles took a long drink from a can of soda and crushed the can. He threw it behind him where it landed with a dull thud. The floor was beginning to become littered with them. Miles grabbed another and cracked it open. David was a little concerned. “Don’t you think that’s enough? That has to be number twenty or more.” 

“More,” Miles said before draining it. “What does it matter? I need something to take the edge off.” David could see that Miles was fidgeting more than usual. “Besides,” he gestured at the broken vending machine and said, “They’re free so who cares?”

“You’ll rot your teeth out.” 

“Ha,” Miles laughed and jabbed a finger at the Walrider. “Wouldn’t that be something? It wouldn’t let that happen.”

A day had passed since they sent the bus full of patients down to Leadville. The Administrative Block returned to being desolated. David had explained that most of the asylum was divided into territories that were ruled by one or two Variants. He said that the reason why they left Miles alone was because they understood and respected that this was his territory. As long as Miles continued to live within the walls of the Administrative Block he wouldn’t be bothered. 

“If it’s to keep the ‘edge off’ you should be drinking water,” David said while he hopped up on the pool table to sit. “It’s better for you and I’m sure your body would thank you later.” 

Seeing that the game was being abandoned Miles rested his cue on the table and took a seat near the Walrider. “I wouldn’t have to do this if someone hadn’t left the gate to the Secret Ward unlocked.” 

David sighed. “I already said I was sorry about that. There’s nothing else I can do.”

“The food store in there would have lasted me the whole month,” he said rubbing his temples. “Now I’m back to being fucked.” 

“Oh come on, you act like eating a man is the worst thing that could happen to you.” Miles lifted his head to glare at David. “It’s not like most of us haven’t done that already. Nothing to be ashamed about.”

“How did you know?” His voice was sharp. 

“Who doesn’t?” David shrugged and said, “You’re the Walrider. A deity. Half this place worships you, and the other half hates you. You can’t take a shit without somebody spreading the word.” 

Miles groaned and leaned back in the chair, “Great. Just great.” 

“I heard there’s a kitchen in the Vocational Block. That’s Eddie’s territory but no one has heard from him in a while. I’m not too keen on checking, but you could. No one is going to mess with the Walrider. Last I heard Eddie wasn’t interested in sharing his resources so there’s a good chance the kitchen could be stocked.” 

Miles mulled the thought over while David kept talking, “There’s also the underground research facility. I never worked down there but I’m certain they must have had a cafeteria of their own. I doubt many people found their way down to that area; either out of fear of the Walrider or because they didn’t want to drudge up bad memories.” 

There was a cafeteria in the basement, Miles distinctly remembered running through it while escaping the Walrider.

“I’m sorry to report that the cafeteria in this block had been raided before your territorial boundaries had been established. There’s the kitchen in the Male Ward but it has already been ransacked, not that it had much stock to begin with.” David continued to list off cafeterias and kitchens in the asylum. Most of them he claimed had already been looted. 

A sharp claw taped on Miles’ shoulder and dragged him out of his thoughts. _“All this talk of food has made you hungry. It’s feeding time.”_

Miles nodded and excused himself from the room. David was free to come and go as he pleased. Someday he’d ask the other man where he lived, but for now he just left. “How can I be hungry?” Miles asked as they walked down the stairs into the main lobby. “I ate all that food yesterday morning not to mention…” he trailed off as his eyes glanced at the blood spatter left by the body he exploded the day before. 

_“You used a considerable amount of energy and that needs to be replaced. We know it bothers you Host but there is nothing either of us can do about it. Being Our host puts a substantial amount of strain on your body. Your diet will stay this way until you die. There is no other way.”_

“Do you think we should try any of the places that David suggested?” 

_“We do not wish to go down into the laboratories and the Vocational Block is much too far for us to travel to. You will consume the leftover body from yesterday. It has not rotted enough to become garbage.”_

“I would much rather make you uncomfortable than eat more human flesh,” Miles said as they crossed the room. He remembered what David had just told him. There’s nothing to be ashamed about. “Holy fucking shit,” he said out loud. “I cannot believe I just thought that. No, Walrider I don’t care if I start shaking like a high-rise in an earthquake we are walking to a kitchen. Any kitchen. I’ll scavenge and eat anything in a can. No bodies. I said I was done with that.” 

_“Unfortunately Host,”_ The Walrider hummed in his ear. His body felt wrong, his mind slowed down. Miles recognized this feeling. _“We are not giving you a choice.”_ The Walrider was influencing him again. And Miles found himself listening.

*** 

Miles twirled a pen around in his fingers while his eyes scanned the computer screen. “You need a name Walrider,” he said turning in his chair to face the creature that sat on one of the couches. 

_“We have a name, it is Walrider.”_

“Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s not very personal. I want to call you something that makes you seem less like a creature out of a book about myths and more like an actual being.”

_“But we are far from being a sentient lifeform, We-“_

“Why do you do that? Refer to yourself as ‘We’ ‘Our’ and ‘Us’?” 

The Walrider explained, _“We are not one single being. We are made up of many parts. They all speak and act as a unit. We are the Swarm, We are the Walrider.”_

“Yeah? Well the Walrider is getting a new name,” Miles said putting the pen down. “How about Rider?” 

_“If that is what you wish.”_

“No,” Miles thought for a moment. “No, that doesn’t feel right. Walrider…Wally? No, not that…Ricky? Riley? Wilfred, William…no too close to Billy. Rider sounded good but I’m just not sure…”

_“Host this is a stupid waste of time.”_

“What about R? It’s short and simple. It kinda has a nice ring to it.” 

_“It is one letter Host. Surely you cannot name something after one letter.”_

Miles said, “Sure you can, the name Jay exists. Hell in elementary school I had a classmate who spelled his name J. Just the letter, nothing else.” He examined the Walrider more closely. “I think R suits you. Think of it like a nickname. Something I can call you that no one else would know of.” 

That got the Walrider’s attention. _“A name the scientists wouldn’t know?”_

“Yeah, something that’s for you. The you that’s bound to me.” 

_“We…We are starting to like this idea more now, Host.”_

Miles smiled. “Thought you would,” he said. “Now there’s one other thing that’s been bothering me. Since you have a name…how should I call you? Are you a guy? A girl?”

_“We are a collection of nanites.”_

“I know, but like…your shape. When appear human you have a male figure. Do you want to be a guy? I’m not saying you have to match how you look; I just want to stop calling you ‘it’ all the time. I don’t like that, it’s like you’re an object.” 

_“Host We really do not care about such things. It is insignificant to Us.”_

“Ok then…since I’m your host and I’m a guy we’ll go with male pronouns for you as well. It’ll keep things simple.” He studied R more closely. “Unless that feels weird? I know you said you don’t care, but if it feels weird let me know, we can work something else out.” Miles looked up and down the Walrider again. R looked almost like a human. It was in form only though, R wasn’t human, the black skin, long claws, and eyeless pits were glaring reminders. “R I have a question.” 

_“Yes Host?”_ R was getting impatient with Miles and this conversation. It was moments like these where he regretted picking Miles as his new Host. The human was more inquisitive than he liked.

“When I first saw you, when you were under Billy’s control you looked different. You were more skeletal and swarm like. But now you look human. Why is that?”

R noticed that as well about his own appearance. The thought of why that was never crossed his mind. Things like physical looks were something he was unconcerned about. _“It probably has more to do with how you view Us. You have more control over Us than Billy did so Our form has more shape. We appear human because humans are the easiest and most comfortable thing you have to relate to.”_

“So even your form is based off of me and my thoughts? I didn’t know that.” Miles was learning more about the Walrider with each day they were stuck connected to each other. “What about me? When I channel your power I look different, do I have control of that as well?” 

_“Yes. We would think that you have some control over yourself. Though We don’t think that it matters what you look like. You’re an amazing creature and soon the world will see that. We are certain of it.”_

Miles laughed uneasily, “Yeah, R…I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon. I’m not planning on leaving Mount Massive until I have perfect control, and when I do leave I’m in no hurry to show off what I’ve become.” He stood up and said on a lighter note, “Come on, let’s go find something to eat.” 

R swirled around Miles, he was pleasantly surprised. _“You feel like hunting? Host we should go to the Female Ward if that’s how you feel. The floors there are unstable and provide perfect places for ambushes.”_

“What?” Miles waved his hand dismissing the idea. “No, I mean we should go to the basement and see if David was right about the cafeteria down there. Shit R, I’m not going to go hunt down and murder people.” He vaulted the railing again finding great pleasure in the feeling of floating down. “The day I start eating people and liking it is the day I finally agree that I’m fucked.” 

He pressed the call button for the elevator but nothing happened. Miles looked down and could clearly see the elevator stuck between floors. _“Well looks like we can’t go down there. That’s a shame Host, time to find something else to do.”_

“Oh my god, R you are not getting out of this that easily.” He placed his hands on the metal grate that separated the lobby from the elevator shaft and pulled. The metal gave way with little effort on Miles’ part. He jumped down into the shaft and landed lightly on the roof of the elevator. It swayed a bit under his weight but didn’t fall. “So, do we go inside it, or under?”

_“We go back up to where it’s safe.”_

Miles lifted the hatch on the elevator roof and said, “Inside it is.” He pressed the button for the basement and turned the key. The elevator shuddered and Miles could hear the groaning of metal gears moving it downward. “You know,” he stifled a laugh, “for a big bad nano-machine monster you sure are a wuss sometimes.” 

He hit Miles in the back of the head, _“Don’t make fun of Our legitimate distresses. You did not experience what We did down there so think before you spew words from your mouth.”_

Now he couldn’t hold back laughing. “Holy fucking shit you’re a riot.” 

_“No, Host riots are a disruption in the status-quo by large groups of people. We cannot be a riot.”_

“You just get better and better I swear.” The elevator reached the bottom floor and the doors opened. Miles walked down the familiar hallway that led to the lobby of the laboratories. “You know, you could have stayed behind upstairs. No one said you have to come with me.” 

_“The added tension in the Asylum between those who obey Us and those who view Us as the enemy have made Us concerned for your safety. You are strong but you are also inexperienced and it worries Us.”_

“Aw you do care,” Miles said as he opened the door to the lobby. The first thing that hit him was the undeniable smell of rot. It was worse than the first time he’d gone down into the labs. He almost retched at the overpowering stench. R had to work hard at calming his host’s stomach. “My god, it reeks down here.” 

_“There are many dead bodies trapped within these walls. It is to be expected.”_

Miles pulled his shirt up a bit to cover his nose and face but it did little good. He quickly made for the door and escaped down into another hallway. He was always shocked at the sheer contrast between the rest of Mount Massive and the halls of the laboratories. The bright white walls hurt to look at and Miles found himself squinting more than he was accustomed to. _“Your eyes are fairly sensitive now. We are more suited to darkness so We adjusted your eyes accordingly. It will take a few moments for them to focus correctly.”_

“Wonderful,” Miles grumbled and stepped over a bloating corpse. “Why’d you do that? It seems to me that it would have been better to leave my eyes alone.” 

The Walrider walked alongside Miles instead of floating around him, it was a welcome change for Miles. It made it seem like he was talking to another person. _“We are making many adjustments to your human body. Humans are far too weak for our liking. You are mobile, a welcome change from the other hosts we’ve had, but that makes it all the more easy for you to be killed.”_

“So you’re just rearranging stuff without asking? R that’s rude.” Miles opened a set of double doors that he remembered led to an eating area. “What are you doing? Will I get a change log when this is all over?”

The static crackled in what Miles had taken to be a laugh and R said, _“Your eyes are good but we made them better, We’ll improve all of your senses, your endurance needs work, your heart isn’t nearly strong enough, your lungs could use some expanding so We’ll move your ribs out, you need more muscles and richer blood, and better functioning digestive lining, not to mention your strength and-“_

Miles stopped him, “Ok, ok, I get it. You’re going to make me even less of a human.” He hopped a counter and found himself in the small kitchen that served the cafeteria. This room was nicer smelling than the rest; it was closed off and didn’t have as many dead bodies in it. There was however, a most spectacular splatter of gore against the back wall. He’d have to complement R on his ability to paint the white walls red. “You know,” Miles said as he dug around in the cabinets. “you make it seem like I’m going to be in constant near death situations for the rest of my life. You do know what a journalist does right? When I decide that it’s time to leave here I’m going right back to my old lifestyle.” He was only finding pans and cooking oil in the shelves. R pointed to a door behind him. Upon opening it they discovered a pantry that was fully stocked with all sorts of food. “Fucking sweet.”

Miles started going through cans and bags. There were tons of canned beans, chili, vegetables, soups, bases, and meat. He hit the jackpot. “Writing articles isn’t exactly the most hazardous of jobs, and neither is going to get the information surrounding them.”

 _“You ended up here,”_ R said and handed Miles a lab coat he had tied off to make a bag out of. 

He laughed. “This was a freak accident. I’ve never had this much shit thrown at me while doing a story.”

R swatted Miles again, _“Do not lie, Host. We can tell from your body that you’ve been near death before.”_

“Shit.” Miles turned around and faced the Walrider. “I forgot that you suddenly have access to my life’s story. Goddamn it.” He patted R on the shoulder and said, “Well those moments are few and far between. Most of the time I’m hunched over a computer screen nursing a bottle of liquor as a deadline approaches far too quickly for my liking. Super boring. You’re life’s gonna suck dick.” Miles choked back another laugh. “Anyways, help me load up on food. Your lab coat bag idea was pretty awesome.”

R nodded and left the room only to return with two more coats. They had a bit of blood on them, but everything they were grabbing was sealed or canned so Miles didn’t worry too much. _“Is all of this good to eat? You’ll consume it without fuss?”_

“Oh yes, of course, this shit is miles better than dead bodies. Fresh or not.” Miles cleared off another whole shelf and started packing eating utensils and containers. “I’ll even eat lima beans at this point.” He could feel R staring at him the comment clearly didn’t make sense. “I don’t like lima beans.” He clarified. “I don’t think anyone actually likes lima beans. In fact, if someone likes lima beans don’t trust them they’re probably some supernatural entity.” 

_“There are no such thing as supernatural entities.”_ R was surprised at how fast Miles had turned to argue with him. _“We are not supernatural, we are science. We were created in a lab by scientists with methods that could be reproduced time and time again.”_ He paused, the continued, _“Provided they had the correct person to use as the base. While it might seem like magic to you, We can assure you that there is a calculated formula that goes into play for Us to be manifested.”_

“You sure look like a magic demon hellspawn to me.” Miles was rewarded with another flick to the head. “You sure have gotten cocky. Does smacking your host make you feel rebellious? Am I going to have to deal with a teenager phase from you?” Miles slung the bag of food over his shoulder and headed for the door. “No R, you can’t listen to rock music, the devil lives in there. Good Walriders do their homework and got to bed early every night. No, no, you slice from the chest down to the belly so you don’t spill as much-“ Miles stopped, “R are you even listening to me? I’m trying to be a good parent over here and you’re just…R?” 

The Walrider was standing frozen in place a feet behind Miles. He was looking through a doorway. Miles joined him and realized what he was looking at. There was a vacant room with a lonely desk void of gore and death. _“We miss him.”_

“Dr. Wernicke?” 

_“He was like a…”_ R seemed to be at a loss for words.

“Like a father?” Miles prompted. “He did create you, I suppose that’s a natural feeling.”

 _“We…We do not remember what happened to him the day you took over as Our host.”_ The static in Miles’ head drummed louder and harder. It felt like heavy rain pounding directly to his brain. _“There was so much death that day. So much blood. Human bodies lose meaning when the death toll reaches such numbers. We were so confused. Billy was scared, We were scared. We remember Wernicke telling you to kill Us, but We also remember not blaming him, We weren’t angry with him.” The Walrider was silent for a long time. “You were angry with him though. You were upset and betrayed and mad and your mind was a mess. We…you were so mad…”_ Miles could feel the pain radiating from the Walrider. Somewhere in his mind he understood that R was more than just a machine. Computers can't be hurt. 

“Jesus, R…” Miles didn’t know what to say. He hardly remembered the moments before he was pumped full of lead. “I’m sorry if I made you do something you didn’t want to do.” He reached out and touched the Walrider’s arm. It was cold and smooth. “Come on.” He gave R a tug. “Let’s get out of here.”

They didn’t say anything else to each other the whole way back to the Administrative Block. The elevator got stuck on the way up once more so Miles had to climb through the top latch to the roof. From there he forced himself to levitate and float to the first floor. The whole trip took less than an hour but Miles was exhausted. His whole body felt drained. He stumbled past David and hardly acknowledged his existence. 

“Where were you?” 

“Out.”

“What’s in the bag?”

“Food.” 

“You look like shit.”

“Yup.” 

“Are you ok?”

“Fine.” 

“Do you need help?” 

Miles stopped and glanced backwards at the man he now called his friend. “You know what? Yeah. Do you know how to use a can opener and a microwave?”

David looked offended and replied, “Of course I do. What kind of adult doesn’t know how to do those two basic things?” 

“Good, because I’m going to collapse in about three minutes and it’d be great if you could heat some of this shit up for me.” Miles stumbled up the stairs and into his room where he deposited the bag and fell onto the couch. “Pick whatever you want, you can eat what you help make.”

The Walrider set his bags down next Miles’. “How much should I prepare exactly? You said you don’t eat like a regular human.” And under his breath he said, “This is so much food…”

“I don’t know,” Miles yawned. “Guess.” 

The Walrider shook his head and dug through the bags. He handed David about a dozen cans. David’s eyes grew a bit wide when he realized what just handed him the food. “R-Right, thanks Walrider. I’ll be back when this is all done.” But before he could leave R grabbed his shirt. “W-What?” He handed David several pans and a spoon. “Oh thanks, yeah those are good to have…” He turned on his heels and ran out of the room.

“You’re a natural with other humans R.” Miles said into the pillow. 

The Walrider ignored the comment. He didn’t care about what other humans thought. _“Host you shouldn’t be this tired.”_ R sat on the edge of the couch and watched his host with concern written all over his face. _“The amount of physical activity you performed was minimal and your food stores aren’t low enough.”_

“You’re exhausting R, you... Like,” Miles gestured vaguely at where he thought the Walrider was sitting. “All of you. Dealing with you is draining.” 

_“We don’t understand.”_

“Join the club,” Miles said. “I think that little moment we had down in the basement sapped my energy. We must still be getting used to each other.”

 _“You are implying that Our ‘emotions’ could affect your energy levels?”_ R looked at him with the most bewildered expression written in his static. _“Host that doesn’t make any sense.”_

“Make sense or not I didn’t feel like this until you got depressed thinking about Wernicke.” 

_“This is concerning.”_

R left Miles so he could nap and wandered the halls. It didn’t make sense to him. He never had this effect on his other hosts. This was new and he didn’t know how to deal with it. If he could drain Miles just by thinking things, then life was about to get way more complicated. He rounded the corner and found David in the small kitchenette. 

The man almost dropped dead of a heart attack when he spotted the Walrider standing in the doorway. “What do you need?” He asked quickly and tried to regain his composure. 

R was annoyed by the lack communication abilities. _Every human should be able to hear Us. Useless creatures._ He walked into the room and watched the other human cook. Eventually David was able to relax and began preparing the cans that R had provided. “You aren’t so bad for a murder monster I suppose.” The ripple in the static indicated that R was laughing. “That’s so strange; I can hear that, you’re laughing, right?” He looked back at the shadow standing in the corner who nodded. “Come on over here, you want to see how food is prepared don’t you?”

R nodded again and stood next to David. “You see,” he said pointing at a knob on the stove. “This controls the heat of the flame; the flame heats the food and makes it good to eat. Right now we want to keep it so it just barely touches the pan.” The Walrider watched closely as David stirred the pot of beans and meat that he was given. There were so many questions he wanted to ask but couldn’t. Asking Miles later would have to do. “Is Miles ok?” David asked, breaking R out of his thoughts. “He seemed kinda worn out, was he chased again?”

R nodded to the first question and shook his head to the second. “That’s good. I have some unpleasant news that I have to share with him and I’d really hate for him to be unstable when I have to tell him.” David poured the boiling mixture into two containers, one of them vastly smaller than the other. “Could I get you to help me carry this one? I can’t manage both.” 

They got back to the room and the Walrider set the container of food down on the desk then gently shook his host awake. _“Food Host. We’ve brought food.”_

He groaned and sat up. Miles didn’t look any better and he didn’t feel any more refreshed either. “Thanks,” he took the steaming food from the table and put a spoonful in his mouth. “David what brings you to this part of the Asylum?”

“I uh, well…” But before he could finish Miles interrupted him with a fit of laughter.

“Oh my god, R is this a joke? I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Excuse me?” David asked thoroughly confused. 

“Fucking lima beans? Really R? After we just got done talking about how much I hated those you give him lima beans to cook? You’re an ass.” 

The sound of R’s laugh echoed in the office.

David just sat there perplexed. “R? I don’t…Miles what are you talking about?”

“Oh,” Miles said turning back to David. “I named him. He’s R now, short for Rider.” 

“You named the Walrider?”

“Yup.” Miles picked at the beans in the container and said, “I got tired of calling him Walrider all the time. I figured he needed a new name. Like it? I think it suits him.” 

“It’s uh…good.” There was a hesitation in his voice that Miles picked up on instantly. 

Miles frowned and said, “Well I thought it was fitting.” 

“It is!” He said quickly. “I just, I don’t think you should go around re-naming gods…is all.” 

He groaned, “No not you too? You believe in that priests line of bullshit?” 

David shrugged and said, “It’s hard to believe in a god that doesn’t answer your prayers.”

Miles looked at R. “Did he ever answer your prayers?” 

“No,” David laughed, “but it was easier to buy into, as you put it, that line of bullshit when you could actually hear and feel the thing you were praying to.” He watched the Walrider sitting behind Miles. It was so weird seeing it casually perch on the couch behind his host. David always thought that the Walrider would be more supernatural, more godlike. But he appeared to be nothing to that degree. Maybe it was because of the way Miles acted as his host, or maybe it wasn’t the monster that Murkoff had hoped it to be. 

“Anyways,” Miles said. “Did you come here for something, or were you just bored?” He wanted the subject turned away from himself and the topic of godhood. Miles wasn’t exactly comfortable with the idea of others viewing him as something to be worshiped, nor did he like the idea of them doing the same to R. Too much could wrong with a group mentality like that. The last thing he needed was a bunch of Variants chasing him down a hall with cleavers because they wanted to “sever the earthly ties that held him down and set him free”.

David looked away almost instantly. Miles noticed that David did this frequently. His dark brown eyes would train on something else, the floor, the wall, an interesting speck of gore on the ceiling. It usually meant something bad was going to leave his mouth. “It feels like…it’s going to seem like I’m only a messenger of bad news but…”

“But?” Miles pressed.

His voice took a darker tone that Miles didn’t like. “Since you have refused to leave Mount Massive there are certain duties that you now must be prepared take up as guardian of this place.” Miles was about to interject but David cut him off roughly. “Let me talk Miles.” The Host leaned back and shoved another spoonful of food into his mouth. David could tell that it was the only thing keeping him from interrupting. “You are the host of the Walrider. That comes with duties and responsibilities that you inheri-“ 

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Miles grumbled.

“No, you didn’t. You’ve said that before Miles. I know you didn’t sign up for this, but you’re here now and this is what your life is like.” 

“Just get to the point David.” 

“It’s the Male Ward. You have to go clean it out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well…it’s where Trager set up his territory. There are a lot of people who are still trapped there. It’s only been five days; many of those people could still be alive.”

“Yeah, if they haven’t bled out yet.” Miles placed the heated bean and meat mixture on the table. His appetite was gone anyway. “So why do I have to go do this? What part of me being connected to the Walrider makes this my responsibility?”

“We believe that the Walrider is the guardian of the mountain. It’s supposed to protect us. Also…you owe them.” 

Miles snorted. “Bullshit. What do I owe them?”

“Every single person in Mount Massive is here because of what you are. What you’ve become. All their suffering, all their pain, every single one of them was tortured by Murkoff to keep the Walrider chained here. You’re the end product; you can at least show a bit of respect to the failed models.” 

“So I just have to go there and release a bunch of people right? Fine, I can do that.” 

“And…”

“And? There’s more?” The agitation was clear in his voice.

David shifted uneasily. “Yes. There’s the Prison Blocks too.” 

“Why should I care about the Prison Blocks? There aren’t redeeming souls in there. I know, I was there. Just let them starve. It’s not my problem.”

“Miles! Listen to yourself.” 

“I am listening to myself!” He looked down and sighed. “They’re the ones who got themselves there. Most of them figured out how to claw their way to freedom anyway.” Shrugging he asked, “Do you really want them running free? Because we need more murderers right? The asylum doesn’t have enough cannibals, let’s add a few dozen more to shake things up.” 

David met Miles eyes. “I wasn’t suggesting you let them free, I was suggesting you put them out of their misery.” His tone indicated that he was not joking around with that proposal. 

“You mean kill them?” Miles got up in a storm of nanites. “I don’t know who you think I am, but I’m not a killer. I’m not a murderer. I won’t kill people in cages.” 

_“It’s not even fun that way Host. Slaughtering humans who cannot run is not something We want you to waste your energy on. Hunting is a better learning experience when your prey can run, hide and fight back.”_

“R shut up.” 

David got up to follow Miles. “What did he say? What did the Walrider say?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Miles snapped. “I’ll go to the Male Ward and see if there are survivors, if only to shut you up.”

“And the Prison Block?”

“We’ll see.”

“I wouldn’t have asked this if I didn’t think you were the only one who could do anything about it.” David took a step back when Miles snarled at him. “You’ve become something strong, something…” he trailed off. “Just, don’t think ill of me. You’re the last one here that could do anything to help.”

Miles left David standing there alone in his room. He headed straight for the staircase. He descended the steps three at a time hardly pausing to place his feet. “Who does that guy think he is?” Miles growled as he reached the hallway that led past what seemed to be dormitory rooms. A few people poked their heads out of the doorways to watch the Host storm past. “I suddenly have to babysit everyone here?” Miles opened his arms wide gesturing to the whole of Mount Massive. “I have to make sure they aren’t suffering?” He kicked at a pile of debris and watched it fly down the hall. “All because I’m linked to you? Because you saved my life and I owe them for that? You know what this sounds like? It sounds like bullshit.” 

_“Then why are we heading to the Male Ward?”_ R asked. He was calm, an opposite to Miles’ blind fury. He watched as his host clawed a blocked passage free. _“Wouldn’t it be smarter to avoid that area and not do what the man asked?”_

Miles growled again and R actually flinched. It sounded like his host was really mad, the snarl ripped from his throat like brittle wood beneath his hands. “That’s just it.” He said over his own growling. “I can’t just leave the people trapped by Trager. I _can’t._ It’s not in me to leave them to suffer.” His growling subsided. “I’m not doing it because I’m some stupid ‘guardian’ or whatever, I’m doing it because I’m a decent human being. I’m just pissed that he had the gall to tell me that it was my responsibility to clean up this mess. It’s not my job, it’s not my fault, if anything it should be Murkoff scum doing this. Not me.” 

_“What about the prisoners? What do you want to do with them?”_

“Fuck ‘em.” Miles said and hit the call button for an elevator. Like most of the machines in this part of the asylum it was broken. He didn’t know if this was the one that was clogged with Tragers’ corpse but he didn’t really care. His hands slid in-between the metal grates meant to keep people from falling inside the shaft and pulled. They creaked and opened and Miles slipped inside. He saw a line of rusty foot holds that lead up the shaft. “Hey R, does that look like a safe idea to you?” 

The nanite monster shook his head. _“No, I don’t know who would trust the rusted ladders in this place.”_

“My thoughts exactly,” Miles said as he stepped into the shaft and dropped three feet. He was pissed and surprisingly that made it easier for him to control the Swarm. He floated to the next set of gates and wrenched them open. “Ok, here’s the game plan. We’re going to go in there and cut anyone still alive free from Trager’s restraints. That’s it. Get in, get out, put my conscious to rest.” 

_“Humans are so strange. You feel such strange things Host.”_

“Don’t fucking remind me. At least it keeps me sane.” 

_“What do you mean?”_

Miles laughed dryly. “Well if I didn’t have the underlying desire to help people then most of what I did for my whole life would be lost. I really would just be a demon sitting on a throne of corpses.” He crossed an open space, probably a lobby once upon a time and entered into what was left of Trager’s territory. 

He could smell the difference between the unclaimed spaces and where Trager once lurked. There was the thick scent of death and suffering. The metallic tang of blood mixed with the sour odor of vomit and piss. “Here we are,” Miles said glumly and opened the first door he came to. There were a line of beds along the wall, most of them held bodies. 

The first two people he came across were dead. _“Should We gather the bodies to one place? Like We did in the Administrative Block?”_

“No,” Miles replied. “We don’t live here; we shouldn’t have to clean it like we did our block. Besides, there are way too many bodies to dispose of here. We leave them.” 

Miles heard a voice from the bed next to him. “W-Who is there?” He turned to see a man lying still like death had claimed him, but his mouth moved in contradiction. “Is someone there? I can hear…I can hear the static. Walrider? Have you come to free us?” The man’s eyes were covered by bandages. 

“You can’t see…” Miles murmured the obvious. “Unfortunately I am not the Walrider, sorry.” 

He groaned and shifted in the rotting bed. “More delusions then.” 

_“Why lie Host?”_

“Well you just answered that question yourself. It’s not a lie, even you refer to me as ‘host’,” Miles said as he undid the bindings around the man’s arms and legs. “There, you can get up now. I suggest finding somewhere safe to curl up and wait for death.” 

He didn’t move and Miles wasn’t sure if he could at this point. “Host?” He said softly. His head tilted slightly and he seemed to stare directly at R, not Miles. “I was right, it is here. Walrider you are here and you speak through a proxy…how marvelous. I am saved.” 

“I’m not here to save you.” Miles started to walk to away but froze when he heard the man pleading for death with choked coughs. “I…” He turned back. “No. I’m sorry, I can’t.” R wasn’t next to him when he reached the next bed. It contained a dead body, just like every other bed he came across. Miles looked around the room for R, he was still standing by the blind man. “R come on, let’s go, everyone else here is dead. There’s too much to do to afford wasting time standing around.” 

But R didn’t move, he didn’t really react much to Miles calling him either. _“Host come here.”_

“I thought it was I who ordered you?” Miles grumbled, but he walked over to him anyway. “What’s up R?” 

_“Place your hand here,”_ R said and pointed to a space above the man’s heart. The Walrider could tell that his host was puzzled but he obeyed nonetheless. 

Miles was going to ask why when he felt a jolt run through his body. When he looked down he could clearly see his hand resting on the man but it was different. The nanites swarmed his hand and turned his skin black. Miles could feel too many things all at once, and he couldn’t explain any of them. Panic started to rise within him.

_“Calm down.”_

“What the hell is going on? R I can feel…I can feel his heart.” It was almost like the muscle was resting directly under his hand and not safely behind a cage of bone and muscle. 

_“Relax,”_ R said. Miles couldn’t tear his eyes away from his hand. He watched as R’s hand seemed to pass right through his own. _“Now squeeze your hand closed, tight.”_

The instructions didn’t make any sense to Miles but he followed them regardless. When he closed his hand he felt sick. It was like his hand had grasped the heart that was still beating inside the man. One of his senses was lying to him, either his sight or his sense of touch, because his hand appeared to be resting on the man’s chest. So how come when he squeezed he could feel the muscle pounding in protest? “R you need to give me some answers here, I’m freaking out.” There was still no response from the Walrider, only the familiar hum of static in his brain and a single suggestion. Miles found himself following that suggestion without thinking. He squeezed a bit harder and the heart stopped. “What…R what did you just do?” Miles asked, his voice shaky and unsteady. 

When R didn’t answer Miles stepped back from the man who had also ceased breathing. The connection snapped and he could no longer feel the foreign blood move between his fingers. His back hit the wall and he asked again, “What did you just do? What did you make me do?” 

_“Perhaps you are rubbing off on Us a bit.”_ He didn’t say anything else as he headed for the door. 

Fury flared up in Miles. “Walrider!” he shouted in a tone that made the creature freeze. “Answer my goddamn question! I’m not going to ask again.” The static was gone, burned away by Miles’ anger until he was thinking clearly. Any hold that the Walrider had over him vanished. 

_“We did what he asked. We killed him.”_ Death was never a big deal to R. He knew it would happen to everything eventually. He never understood why his host made such a big deal about it. _“Although, We did it in a much more gentle way. We think you are to blame for that.”_

“You used me!” Miles said outraged. “You used me to kill that man.” He caught up with the Walrider and forced him against the wall. 

_“Do not raise you voice over nothing Host. There are much more pressing matters to get upset about.”_ R was done talking about this. _“He was blind and weak. We simply took out weak prey.”_

“You fucking used me! I thought I told you, I thought I made it clear that-“

 _“And We made it clear as well Host.”_ R interrupted Miles sharply. _“When you fear Us, We gain control. You’ve been feeling Our voice more than before. You are growing weaker and Our suggestions are beginning to become more than suggestions.”_

He froze when he realized that the Walrider was right. It didn’t take much for Miles to accept or even agree with the things that the Walrider would say. He was being swayed much more easily and R’s voice was practically inside his own brain. The thought terrified him. He felt his rage sway and the static leaked back into his mind. “Sh-Shit.” 

_“We do not even understand what has you so worked up this time. That human was asking to die, begging. We thought you’d be pleased that we were able to end his suffering. Isn’t that what you go on about? Helping people? Stopping the pain? Well there is no better solution to pain than death.”_

“R that’s…that’s not true all the time,” Miles said and stepped away from the Walrider. “Death isn’t always the way out. And that’s not why I’m mad. I don’t like killing. Never would I have imagined that I could be responsible for a person’s death. Now,” he gave an unsteady laugh. “Now I’m having troubles counting how many lives I’ve ended.”

_“There’s a thing you must understand about this place. The rules you hold so dear and close to your heart are meaningless. To survive here you must act on instinct and that’s something you are lacking. We can teach you, but only you can pay attention.”_

The static hummed around his head, urging him to agree and comply. “Fucking stop that. Get out of my head.” Miles took in a large breath of air and let it out slowly. “I get…I understand where you’re coming from,” he said finally. “I get that here it’s kill or be killed. And I understand that you’re only trying to protect your own life, which is tied to mine. But please, can we stop killing? Or at the very least, stop using me as a weapon?” 

_“We cannot make promises like that.”_

Miles wanted to argue further but he had a feeling it would get nowhere. What was done was done and he had to hope there wouldn’t be future incidents. They walked through a few empty rooms before he came to another section that had people in it. Diligently Miles went to each bed and examined the bodies left tied up. Most were deceased. It wasn’t a surprise to Miles, he had figured as much. But every few beds he came across a rare survivor. They were weak but they could talk and most could move. 

Each person that Miles untied he gave the same advice. Run, hide, and try not to die. However, as they ventured further and further into Trager’s territory the patients became more and more abused. Miles could take in Trager’s handiwork in all its brutal glory. The organized instructions for torture resurfaced in Miles’ mind.

Fingers first. Then balls. Then tongue. 

He glanced at his own pitiful hands. They were the first things that were truly taken from Miles by Murkoff. It may have been Trager behind the blade but it was Murkoff that put him there. R noticed the way that Miles stopped and stared. _“Do we need to leave Host?”_ He asked, a bit of concern edging its way into his static. _“We apologize once again. Our healing capabilities do not extend to missing limbs.”_

“No, I’m fine.” He balled his hands into fists. “I’m just…regretting some of my life choices right now.” 

Miles found a set of stairs that led up to the third floor. This was the floor that Miles was most familiar with. It was the one that Trager had wheeled him to. Here the abuse was very apparent. Dead bodies strapped to tables and beds were around every corner. The stink of death, vomit and piss was strong and growing stronger.

However, life continued to struggle in this place. Miles could hear the shallow breathing of those who dared to stay alive. He remembered his first time going through these hallways. People were begging to be killed, they wanted an end to the torture and Trager never gave it to them. _He never got the chance to give them release._ There was a hum of static.

 _“Is it really that bad to end the suffering of these men?”_ R asked. He wasn’t trying to push Miles to do anything; he only wanted to bring the idea up again. _“They would not be able to fend for themselves. Host even you can see that. Especially those who are missing tongues. They are not meant to be in this world much longer.”_

“What’s your point R?” Miles was getting tired of the talk of death.

 _“What We did before, with that man. When he asked Us to kill him...it didn’t hurt. We didn’t hurt him. It’s a technique you would find a great use for.”_ R walked beside Miles but gave his host plenty of breathing space. _“When We were bound to Billy We did not care about how We reached Our goals. We did not care if a human suffered during death. But you, you care. It makes Us care. If you would like, We could teach you how to…”_ he chose his words carefully, _“…put down individuals with the least amount of pain possible. You’d still be killing these men, but We think it’s the more humane thing to do.”_

Miles scoffed, “Humane? What do you know about being humane?” But as he looked from bed to bed, at the dead or dying, he realized that R had a point. “Maybe David was on to something when he sent me here.”

_“Feel like elaborating Host?”_

“Remember when I said I couldn’t ignore what David had told me? That I had to come here because I had a shred of decency? Maybe…shit R maybe everyone else is right about me. Maybe I’m just, a monster, or killer, or whatever. And maybe that’s a good thing right now? Who else could do this?” He hated the way his mind rationalized murder. 

_“Is it really murder if they ask for it though?”_

“Stay out of my head!” Miles snapped. 

_“Our apologies, We reside in there, sometimes it is very hard to ignore your thoughts.”_

Miles groaned and opened another bloodstained door into yet another room fresh with death and void of any traces of kindness. This room seemed to be for torture alone. “I know you share my brain, I can feel you in there…” He shivered, not from the cold. “But could you please try to listen less to my thoughts. I think them for a reason.” 

In the middle of the room was a bed, and on the bed lay a man. His body was spread eagle for the world to witness. Miles approached with a quite gait that surprised the man when he finally saw Miles’ figure. “Get away from me!” He shrieked. “I’m done being your plaything you sick fuck! Peel us like vegetables and watch us bleed, then you have the nerve to leave us festering in our own filth for days! Fuck y- You’re not Trager.” 

“No, no I’m not,” Miles managed to say while biting back vomit. The man wasn’t kidding about being peeled. His chest was exposed, the skin held away with neat pins. It reminded Miles of high school biology class. The preserved frogs, and later baby pigs, had to be pinned in a very similar manner. Thankfully, or not, the man hadn’t had his muscles sliced away and his organs were left protected from the elements. It was like Trager had gotten bored, or distracted and left halfway through his procedure. “How the fuck are you still alive?” 

“Willpower and misplaced anger,” he replied with a grunt. “But I’m very much looking forward to death. There’s a knife on the bedside table, if you’d be so kind.” He added, “I think it’s still sharp.” 

Miles hesitated and the Variant saw it. “Oh come on, don’t be like that,” he said. “Don’t be one of those assholes who puts himself above a little death.” 

_“Is it murder if he asks for it?”_ R repeated the question again. He tested his influence by asking the question both out loud and inside Miles own head.

“Shut up.” Miles stepped closer to the man and noticed that flies had started to gather around the flesh that was clearly dying. Pretty soon they’d lay eggs and-

Miles dropped to one knee and dry heaved. He was shaking not just from the image of maggots eating someone alive, but at the heavy weight of realization. Realization that was born from finally understanding the creative extremes of inhumanity that people were willing to go to. When he gathered himself he stood back up to his full height. The Variant got a good look at his face from the flood lights that illuminated the bed. “Well ain’t you something? What the hell did Murkoff do to you?” 

“Long story,” Miles replied glumly. He knew he had to make a choice and was just stalling. “R…” 

_“Yes, Host?”_ He swirled into view beside Miles. _“Have you made your decision?”_

“Yes…and no.” He heard the Walrider growl in his ears. “Shut up, I’m just…” he held his hand out, it hovered just above the man’s chest. “I…fuck.” The static pushed a bit harder.

 _“You would be showing mercy Host.”_

The man squirmed a bit in his restraints. “Is that the Walrider?” His eyes stayed focused on R. “The fuck is the Walrider doing here?”

“Like I said...” Miles gave a faltering smile. “…long story.” 

The man’s eyes grew wider when he felt Miles’ fingers graze the exposed flesh of his chest. “Are you some sicko? Wh-What are you doing? ” 

“Making a mistake probably,” Miles said and placed his hand firmly down on the man. “R show me how to do that again.” 

_“With pleasure.”_ He purred.

A chill ran down Miles’ spine at the Walrider’s words. He was much too eager. R told him to focus all his effort into feeling the organs beneath the muscle. Something like this should have been science fiction but it was all too real and Miles was far too good at it. This time he paid more attention to what the Walrider was doing. He slipped his hand on top of Miles’ once more and it was then that Miles realized what was going on. “I’m feeling this through you,” he murmured. 

_“Correct.”_

“So who’s in control here, me or you?”

_“It’s a delicate balance of the both of us. If We still desired We could remove Our hand, however if your will is strong enough We would be unable to. We are giving you complete control of the limb inside the man’s body.”_

“God this is gross,” Miles said as he squeezed on the heart, following R’s instructions. “So it’s the nanites that are doing the majority of the work?”

Miles didn’t feel bad about talking about the man’s death in front of him. He had long passed out and R informed Miles that he had died shortly after the first squeeze. _“Yes, We take care of the hard work. Especially with your control being so weak. When you get better and more stable you will be able to direct the nanites yourself and We will not be needed as much. The next prey, We mean poor soul, we save we will do so by destroying the brain. It is much more complex and you will need all the practice you can get.”_

“Oh, goodie,” Miles said deadpan. 

_“Are you not happy?”_

“Embracing being a monster is a difficult thing R.”

They made quick work of the rest of Trager’s territory. There were so many dead bodies. Miles felt bad; he couldn’t help it. If he had responded a little sooner perhaps he could have saved more of them. But then he remembered what he had been tied up with the past few days. If he had saved these men, the innocent people kept here might have suffered or died instead. Miles used to think he wasn’t one to justify whether or not someone’s life was worth more than another’s, but suddenly this sort of power was not only given to him, but expected of him. These types of choices, even if they were immoral, had to made. And most times, he only had a split second to make the decision. 

Miles was exhausted by the time they were done with the rotting third floor. “We should tell people that this section should be condemned.” 

_“Why bother? It’s just as bad as the rest of the places here. At least in this wing the bodies are strapped to little beds you can wheel out the window.”_

“R! My god,” he said but couldn’t stop the laughter from slipping past his lips. The laughter turned to choked sobs and Miles slid down the wall to the floor.

_“Host?”_

“Give me a moment R. I’m sorta fucked up right now.” His mind wasn’t in the most stable of places and he could feel R weaving his own thoughts and opinions into any open section. He took deep breaths and tried to come to terms with what had just happened in the Male Ward. Desperately he tried to justify his actions. He tried to rationalize mass murder. Most importantly, he tried to bury the feeling of pure pleasure that came with each beating heart that halted under his grasp. 

The Walrider stood beside his host and waited for the moment to pass. _“You’re going to have to get used to this.”_

“I don’t want to get used to this.”

_“Then we should leave.”_

He sighed. “You know we can’t.” Miles stood up and said, “I’m not leaving until will have all the dirt on Murkoff and then some.” He started back towards the elevator. “And when we do decide to leave… well it’s a hell of a different world out there. You’ll see that none of this ‘instinct’ stuff will be needed. I’ll be living a normal, human life.” He paused and added, “Well, after the large amount of testifying on trials is over, and after the sudden surge of media interest dies down. Then I’ll be back to a normal human life.” This time the laugh that came out of Miles was lighthearted. “You’re going to have a pretty boring life R.”

The Walrider followed behind Miles silently. _You are so naïve host. So very, very, naïve._

> “There’s an old saying that say’s once you name it, you’ll get attached to it. Well… shit.”  
>  -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to make the chapters a bit shorter, but I'm not sure if I succeeded. 
> 
> Anyways, I'm very interested to hear what you guys think about giving the Walrider a name. I wanted to give him more depth as a character, and I think adding a personal name would help.  
> Another thing I struggled with was deciding if the Walrider should have a concrete gender or leave it neutral. In the end I went with using the host's gender. Originally I always thought of the Walrider as male, but someone suggested I do something different. I gave it a lot of thought and ended up keeping the original idea I had. 
> 
> Soon I hope to move the story out of the Asylum, but there's a few major plot points I still need to get through.  
> (sorry I write novels you guys, I'm amazed when people read all the way through my stories.)  
> I appreciate every comment that I receive! Thanks for sticking with me!
> 
> Don't be afraid to comment on these older chapters!! I still love and would appreciate the feedback!!


	6. Eyeballs Don't Go In Spaghetti

He was running. Running was all that mattered. He had to get away; he just had to live for another minute, another hour, another day. There was nothing else left to do. Waylon Park didn’t even know where he was running to or what he was running from. The rotting walls and patchy tile all started to look the same as time blended together.

Voices could be heard behind him. He couldn’t catch if they were saying “Feed me! Feed me!” or something far worse. A chill ran down his spine at the sound of a saw starting up. His feet slipped on the slick tile and he crashed to the floor. This was it, he thought. This was his end. This was where he died.

But Waylon didn’t die, he woke up grasping the sheets and sweating from a marathon he didn’t run. The cold air hit his warm body while his heart pounded a drumbeat into his ears that seemed overwhelming in the quiet bedroom. It was still pitch black outside, the sun had yet to rise and give the comfort of light. Three thirty am. Much too early to be awake, but he had little other options.

Gently he slipped out of the bed. He paid special attention to not wake Lisa. This was no time for her to be awake and worried. He felt guilty leaving her alone. But he knew if he stayed it wouldn’t be any better. He’d just lay awake staring at the ceiling. When he had nightmares like the one he just had, sometimes there just wasn’t any relaxing. It would be better that she find an empty, damp, sweat spot than a panicked husband.

On his way out he grabbed a notebook from the side table and stumbled down the stairs to their small kitchen. He kept the lights off. All the time he spent cowering in the dark corners of Mount Massive taught him that the lack of light wasn’t always something to be feared. If he couldn’t see, then they couldn’t see him.

“They” wouldn’t be in his living room. Nor would “They” be in his kitchen, or in the garage, or under the bed. But sometimes, most times, he still checked. It used to be that his boys would go to him and ask if he could check under their beds or in the closet for monsters. It was a twisted role reversal that had him or Lisa checking his own bed and closet for something much worse than the boogeyman.

He made his way around the small kitchen table to the counter where a solitary coffeemaker sat. After he pressed a few buttons to start a pot of coffee he took out a small flashlight that was in one of the drawers. There were now flashlights, lighters, candles and back up lanterns in every room. Despite the knowledge that any enemy couldn’t see him in the dark, the small lights helped keep the shadows his mind insisted were people away. He turned on one such light and aimed it at the kitchen table after doing a sweep of the surrounding living room. Their house was small. Everything in Leadville was small. The sleepy town sat at the base of Mount Massive. There was a fishery up the mountain a bit, and a hospital in town.

It was at that hospital that Waylon was taken the day he escaped from Murkoff Psychiatrics Facilities at Mount Massive. He had a stab wound to his abdomen along with numerous cuts, scrapes, and fractures. One of his more impressive injuries besides the hole in his side was the one in his right leg where a piece of metal sliced right through the muscle and nicked bone. It went in one side and poked out the other. The result of that accident in the elevator shaft was a slow healing injury that caused him to limp around the house. On the bad days he could hardly put weight on the leg.

The doctors assured him it would heal in time. He just needed some patience. Time heals all wounds, or so it’s said. Waylon wasn’t sure if time was all he needed to heal. Maybe it would work for his leg, but he was pretty sure he needed much, much more than time. A therapist for one, medication for another. Neither of those things could they afford. The hospital bills alone for the surgery on his gut and leg set them firmly back in the red as far as finances were concerned. He was grateful that they hadn’t been evicted from their house yet.

Waylon sat down at the table and opened up the notebook. Since he couldn’t afford therapy he went to the next best place for advice: the internet. And after reading more than enough articles he decided to start a dream journal. It turned into more of a regular journal the more he wrote in it. It was suggested that writing down his thoughts onto paper would help ease his mind. For the most part, it was sound advice. However, he could rarely go back and read the entries that he had written. Most were dark and some were just too personal or heartbreaking to allow to be read. His mind wasn’t the most welcoming place these days.

He began to write about his dream, about the man chasing him, and about the smell of cooking organs and burning flesh. Waylon Park could describe a man being barbequed alive in more detail than anyone else in the surrounding states could imagine. It wasn’t pleasant remembering these things, and he didn’t take pride in it, but he couldn’t stop himself either. The memories were fresh, that’s all. He had convinced himself that if he just gave it time they would fade. Instead of hearing the terror inducing sounds of a man screaming in pain while his gentiles get cut off by a table saw, he might be able to hear his sons laughing, or the vows he exchanged on his wedding day.

Time. He just needed to wait.

The coffee machine chimed and Waylon poured himself a strong mug of the stuff and sat back down to write. The light the flashlight gave off wasn’t much, but it was enough to see the lines on the notebook and the black pen ink that trailed across it. Waylon wasn’t much of a poet. But he did like writing. It was something that made him feel relaxed and it took his mind away just like computer programming did. But sometimes what he wrote didn’t distract him, but instead pulled him further into his never-ending nightmare.

Eventually his pen slowed and his eyes didn’t focus what he was writing. When he got like this he often didn’t notice changes in his surroundings, including the passage of time.

“Waylon? What are you doing up?”

A voice. A voice shattered the illusion and he was no longer hiding under a bed but sitting at a table. He jumped at the sound and knocked over the coffee, it spilled all over his hand.

“Oh my god, Waylon,” Lisa moved to grab a towel and clean up the spilled drink. “It’s…It’s cold. Waylon how long have you been sitting here?”

“Dunno.”

She picked up the mug and set it back down upright. “Are you ok?”

He was starting to come back to reality and looked up at his wife. “Y-Yeah I’m fine Lisa. Sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

“It’s five thirty in the morning; the kids will be getting up to go to EDP.” Lisa always dropped the kids off at school early for what the school called “extended day program”. It was designed so parents with early jobs could drop their kids off at school and not mess around with daycares. The service wasn’t free, in fact it cost a small fortune, but the Parks’ fees were waved on account of their troubling financial situation.

Waylon leaned back in his chair. “Do you want me to go get them?”

“No,” Lisa said while wringing out the soiled towel in the sink. “I want you to go upstairs, take a shower, and come down when you don’t look scared of your own shadow.”

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t sleep. You know how it gets sometimes.”

She turned on the kitchen light and said, “I know. You’ll get better.”

“God I hope so,” he said and stood up. “I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“What were you doing sitting in the dark anyways?”

Waylon closed his notebook. “I was writing.” She nodded and started a new pot of coffee. “I’ll be back down soon.”

“Take your time, there’s no rush.” Lisa smiled and kissed her husband softly. “It’s not like we’re going anywhere.”

He chuckled, “Yes you are, you’re leaving at six thirty for work.”

“Always literal Way,” she said and pointed to the staircase. “Now go get cleaned up, I already showered so don’t worry about me.”

Once in the bathroom he locked the door. Locking doors was a new habit formed by the paranoia that someone could be trying to get in. The few seconds they spend struggling with the lock could be the difference between living through the encounter or dying.

He shrugged his shirt off and boxers and examined himself in the mirror. Visibly, he looked like a different man. During his “care” at Murkoff he was abused time and time again. They didn’t feed patients like they should and the constant Morphogenic Engine Therapy sessions destroyed any appetite he had left. After his escape he tried to take better care of himself, but it was hard. Eating felt like a chore, getting up was impossible some days and even standing in the shower was a struggle.

Today felt different, today was a good day. It might have started off rocky, but he had a feeling it was going to be ok. He looked in the mirror and said to himself, “I’m fine. I’m ok.” Then he stepped into the shower in an attempt to wash his troubles away.

Fifteen minutes later he walked out feeling refreshed and surprisingly energized. He was proud of himself; these were big steps that masqueraded as small ones. He limped down the stairs and into the kitchen where his two boys were sitting at the table eating cereal. Alex was the first to look and tell him good morning. Lee wasn’t as vocal most mornings and preferred to sit and eat in silence.

Lisa sat down next to him at the table and passed him a plate with eggs on it. “Eat up; you have a lot to do today.”

“I do?” He smiled and took a small bite of egg. “What exactly is on the agenda?”

“While we are out I want you to make dinner and clean up around here.”

He laughed, “Easy. Consider it done.” Waylon had already taken to cleaning the house a few times a day. It was something he enjoyed doing, and if it made things easier for Lisa he was happy to do it. It had only been a week since he got out of the hospital and he still wasn’t quite back on his feet. At the moment Lisa was the only one working and running the household. He admired her strength. He considered himself lucky to have her devotion.

“I left stuff for spaghetti on the counter; I’ll be home with the boys around six thirty.”

“Got it.”

“And maybe, if you feel like it, take a walk and get some fresh air.”

Waylon picked at the food on his plate. Going outside was a challenge he hadn’t attempted more than once. He panicked when the neighbor dog rushed to greet him at the fence. It wasn’t the dog that had him spooked, but the sound of the chain that rattled when it ran. It sounded too much like a memory of a man bigger than the most well-built football player. That man wasn’t pleasant. “Yeah. Yeah I can do that,” Waylon lied. He remembered he hadn’t answered yet; he was slipping back into memories. He dragged himself back to the present long enough to stare at the yellow egg yolk and decide that he wasn’t hungry anymore.

“Thanks dear.” She looked at the clock and stood up. “Come on, we gotta hit the road if we want to make to school on time.” The kids groaned and Lisa couldn’t stop a grin from materializing on her face.

Waylon stood and took his plate to the sink. “I’ll walk you out,” he offered. Going to the front porch was well within his abilities. It was going beyond the driveway that the challenge started.

Alex stopped and watched his father, “Daddy didn’t finish his breakfast.”

Waylon looked down at his plate of food, hardly touched. He smiled weakly, “Daddy’s not feeling the best right now.” He hated the worry that flicker across his son’s eyes.

“Is that why you don’t leave the house?”

“Alex,” Lisa’s voice sounded sharply from the door. “Leave your father be. How you would you like it if someone bugged you while you were sick?” She didn’t give Alex the time to respond before she added, “Now come here and make sure you grab your bag.”

“Coming!” He ran off to meet her and Waylon was left alone in the kitchen. 

Waylon watched as his family moved without him, Lisa busy making sure the boys had all their things. “Now, do you have pencils?” He overheard her say. “I don’t want another call from the teacher telling me you forgot all your supplies again.”

There was a sudden realization that hit him like a freight train. This was exactly how things were when he was away on business; or when he was cooped up inside that asylum, both as an employee and as a patient. His family kept moving, Lisa kept working just as hard, if not harder, to provide for his boys and make sure they were happy. And what was he doing? Nothing. He was standing there like he’d never seen any of them before in his life. He fell back on one of the chairs and put his head in his hands.

Lisa caught this and told the boys to go wait in the car while she grabbed something. They obeyed without hesitation and ran out the door. He heard her crouch down next to him. “Waylon what’s wrong?”

He shook his head. “Everything Lisa.”

She gave him a quiet laugh. “That doesn’t narrow anything down.”

“I suppose not.” He took a few breaths and said, “Do you even need me here anymore?”

“Of course I need you here,” Lisa said instantly. Shock flared in her voice. “I’ll always need you. What’s the matter with you?”

Waylon shrugged. He shrugged a lot. “You just seem…to get on just fine without me.”

She gripped both his shoulders with solid hands. “Whatever you think you’re seeing Way, you’re not. We keep moving because we have to. It doesn’t mean we’re better off or fine. We need you. I need you.”

He shrugged again before realizing that’s not an answer. “Thanks. Lisa, really. I’m a mess and you’re still here.”

“I’ll always be here.” She glanced up at the clock again and said, “I really need to get the kids to school.” When she turned to leave Waylon grabbed her hand. “Way, really.”

“Did I…Did I ever tell you that back there…you were the only thing keeping me sane, keeping me going? You and the boys. That’s all I thought about. You and the boys.”

She smiled. “Of course you told me. And I’ve told you that if it were me, my thoughts would echo yours. You, Alex and Lee and the most important parts of my life.” Lisa bent down and kissed Waylon one more time. “Now, I need to take those most important parts to school or they’ll end up playing videogames all day and not filling their brains with knowledge.”

“Go. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

And then she was gone, leaving Waylon alone with his thoughts once more.

The humming of the vacuum cleared his mind and he was easily able to lose himself in the monotony of cleaning. Part of him said it was because moving the machine back and forth over the carpet was relaxing, another part of him said it was because the constant drone of the vacuum sounded like the static leftover in his head from the Engine. Waylon prayed he wasn’t finding comfort in that sound.

He hadn’t been put through the Engine itself. Instead he was sent to therapy. The first step in getting a patient ready to host the Walrider was to weaken its mind and degrade the soul. And to do that Murkoff developed a pattern of images and shapes that assaulted the mind and almost drove one to the brink of insanity. Engine therapy was a necessary precursor to being a viable candidate for Project Walrider. If you didn’t respond well to the therapy you wouldn’t respond at all to the Engine. It would be a waste of time and subjects to throw failures into the Engine.

Waylon had heard of men who had been subjected to the therapy for months on end. Slowly Murkoff scientists worked their minds like putty with the nightmare machine and reinforced the body with hormones, steroids and a chemical cocktail that was every bit as legal as a bank robbery. The people at Murkoff might as well have been robbers. They stole everything from the people they put through the Engine.

Waylon cleaned the staircase and the carpets on the first floor before setting in on the already spotless bathroom. There was probably no cleaner house in America than the Park’s. With that taken care of he made his way back to the kitchen and front entry way. There was a shoe out of place but that was quickly rectified. The only place left to clean was the kitchen. He thought briefly about doing the laundry but dismissed it when he remembered that there wasn’t enough to do even one load.

The kitchen was finished in record time which left Waylon with nothing to do and hours to do it. He grabbed his computer bag and sat down at the table. Maybe he could squeeze in a few work applications? The job hunt had been a bust since leaving the hospital. Murkoff hadn’t changed his patient status. Technically he was still listed under their care and it made finding a job difficult. On top of that he didn’t want to leave his house for a job that required travel. Too much could go wrong if he left what was safe and familiar.

There were a few job listings that allowed him to work from home. It was common in his field to be able to do his job from the couch, however most required you to work within the campus before moving your office. Waylon shifted through a few that looked promising and sent out his resume. He doubted he’d be able to land anything, a quick background check would reveal his run-in with Murkoff.

That company had taken so much from him and he hadn’t even damaged them. His eyes glanced down at the corner of his desktop. There sat a single folder. “WALRIDER_PROJECT.zip”. Within it contained every piece of video footage he captured during his escape of Mount Massive. He thought about uploading it somewhere, dumping it where the whole world could see. But he hadn’t. He was too scared.

Murkoff was a company that wasn’t to be messed with, Waylon didn’t know just how much of the world they controlled, but he knew that it would be bad news to go against them. He’d need a way to drop his information without revealing who he was. He could easily cut the parts of the video out where Blaire or Andrew said his name, but he wasn’t so sure he could erase all traces of his involvement. Sooner or later someone would track him down and he wasn’t prepared to face the consequences of that action.

He had just gotten his family back, his wife, his sons, and he wasn’t going to throw all that away on the grounds of revenge. They’d figure out their money problems, they’d been in the hole before. Waylon knew they’d make it, they always did.

That sort of blind faith motivated him when nothing else would. A quick glance at the clock revealed that it was nearing three in the afternoon. His eyelids were drooping slightly; a nap was definitely in his future. Nowadays he could really only get a decent amount of sleep in the middle of the day when the sun was out in full force to chase the nightmares away.

His phone buzzed at four alerting him to an email he received. Wearily he tapped the screen and dismissed the email. It was just spam from Google again. He rolled over and tried to go back to sleep but couldn’t. Waylon sighed and sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It was only a bit past four but he figured maybe he could start dinner. It wouldn’t take him that long to make pasta, but he could always cover it and keep it warm for later.

Waylon used to think of himself as a pretty good cook, however the long hours at his jobs, or the constant traveling meant that he had taken to instant dinners and fast food instead of a home cooked meal. He hoped he hadn’t gotten rusty. He took out the first large pot he could find and filled it with water and set it to boil. Then he opened the can of red sauce and started to brown the ground beef that he would add to the sauce. He also rummaged around and found a can of mushrooms and some onions in the fridge. Those would all be added to the sauce later.

The kitchen was alive with the smell of simple spices and cooking meat. Waylon took a step back and admired the pots on the stove. “Heh, maybe I still got it,” he said with a smile. His family didn’t have much in terms of food to eat, so every meal counted. Soon, he hoped, they would have more to eat than a few boxes of pasta noodles and a loaf of bread. He needed a job; he needed a way to support the family again. A gurgling sound broke him out of his thoughts and back to cooking. The pot that contained the sauce was boiling over a bit. He reached over to turn it down when he caught sight of a mushroom lazily rolling over in the liquid. Waylon froze. Was that a mushroom…or? He backed away suddenly as memories came crashing in.

There were pots on the stove back there too. They were filled with red and smelled like metal. He took another step back before rushing to the sink to heave. The pan on the stove continued to bubble and splatter. Waylon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked over at the pot. There, sitting on top of the sauce, poised perfectly and staring directly back at him was an eye. He froze.

Eyes don’t go in spaghetti. People don’t eat human eyes, or arms, or… Waylon felt like throwing up again but the eye staring at him from the pot was too unnerving. There was a sudden sound of a saw being fired up from outside. _Or was it outside? Who does yardwork at this time?_ Waylon’s heart began to pound. _He’s in here with me. He’s going to want to check on his meal. I have to hide._ He stepped back from the counter and crouched under the table drawing both legs up. He could hear him, his breathing. The cannibal was near he just knew it.

“Feed me, feed me, feed me!” he shouted and Waylon drew himself in tighter. The sound of the saw got closer and closer. Waylon forced his eyes to stay open; closing them would be a death sentence. He needed to think of something he could use as a weapon. Something he could grab that he might be able to throw at the man when he came closer to inspect his pots. His first thought was one of the chairs, they were big and made out of solid wood, something like that could be hurled across the room as a distraction while he ran for the door. Surely one of his elderly neighbors would be home and let him use the phone to call the cops.

The plan was coming together, he just had to bash the man with the chair and run. His leg could still run, even though it was injured. It did fine in the asylum running from Eddie. Besides, if he did nothing he’d be as good as dead. He shifted his position a bit, leaning on the table, on hand gripping the leg tight, the other resting on the chair he would hurl at his pursuer. Just a few more moments, it was almost time. His heart hammered, his breath was getting ragged, his fingers hurt from clutching the wood of table so tightly.

Then, when it seemed like the buzzing was the loudest something even louder came crashing into his eardrums. It was a series of loud brief beeps that came every second. He jerked back under the table and realized that he could no longer hear the buzzing or the breathing. Cautiously he crawled out from under the table and realized what was making the sound. The pot of sauce on the stove had continued to boil over the sides and into the awaiting flame below. There it was free to burn and smoke. The whole kitchen was filled with a thin layer of smoke that swirled around his smoke detector. That was what the beeping was from.

Waylon forgot all about the cannibal and his need to hide and jumped right into action. He turned the stove off and opened a window to vent out the smoke. Then he moved the pot off the stove and into the sink and began the process of fanning off the smoke detector until it stopped blaring its warning. When everything had quieted down he understood just how foolish he must have looked. A quick glance out the window confirmed that there was a road crew clearing away an old tree’s branch from an electric pole. He glanced down at the ruined pot of sauce and saw no eyeballs staring back at him. There weren’t any limbs present either, just mushrooms and burnt tomato sauce.

He sighed and turned the boiling water off as well, at least he hadn’t put the noodles in yet. Then he grasped his cell phone in one hand and leaned against the wall. He didn’t need to look at the display to hit speed dial one.

“Hello? Waylon? Is everything alright?”

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is now.”

“I’m at work; you know I can’t talk at work, what happened?”

“I…I burned the sauce. For the spaghetti.” He hated the way his voice sounded like a child waiting to be scolded.

“Is it ruined?”

“Yes, Lisa I-“ He trailed off. “I’m sorry.”

He heard her breathe on the other end, slow and steady. “We don’t have any more Waylon, we’re out of meat too…I’ll… How bad is it? Can you save any of it?”

“I don’t think so. It set of the smoke detector so-“

“How could you let that happen?” Her voice seemed clipped, almost angry.

“Lisa I-“ He paused, and put a hand to his face. “I’m sorry. I thought I saw something in the pot that wasn’t there. It freaked me out and I panicked.”

“I’ll…” another pause. “Shit, Waylon I have to go, my manager is looking at me again. Just…stay safe ok? I’ll fix this when I get home.”

She hung up and Waylon didn’t think he could feel any more like a failure. He looked back over at the mess on the counter. “Of course there was no eyeball, it was a mushroom and you’re an idiot.” He ran a hand through his hair and walked back to the couch. “Lisa sounded so tired…so concerned. She’s probably scared to leave me home alone. I can’t even cook dinner…” He thought about what she said, how they didn’t have any more sauce, or meat in the house. Waylon understood that he just made things a whole lot worse for his family.

He got up and walked back to the kitchen, he checked the pot again, confirming that was nothing in there that he could save. He put some water and dish soap in it to help break up the burnt crusty remnants of tomatoes while he figured out what to do next. He had to have something ready for dinner when she got home. Lisa shouldn’t have to fix his stupid mistakes. It wasn’t fair.

He shouldn’t have to be watched over and cared for like a child. He had to move on, he just had to. The clock on the wall read five, so he had about an hour and a half until Lisa would be back with the boys. He could figure something out in that hour and a half.

Waylon put on shoes and walked outside, the road crew was done with the tree and where hauling branches into their truck bed. He quickly glanced up and down the neighborhood. Everyone was at work, which wasn’t surprising. Most adults got up and became productive members of society. In this situation he was the anomaly.

With no one around to borrow the needed ingredients from, he was left with no other choices. He had to go to the store and pick everything up himself. He knew that at the store people would be watching him, he would be stared at, he just had a feeling that people knew. But he pushed those thoughts aside; he was grimly determined to do this.

Once back inside he noticed that his heart beat slightly slower, even his driveway drove his anxiety up. He grabbed his coat from the rack and reached for his keys, only to realize that they were gone. “Of course they’re missing; they’re back in my room at Mount Massive. I didn’t leave in my own car I took…” He stopped speaking when an idea hatched in his head. “I took that Jeep outside.” He opened the garage door and looked at the red Jeep parked inside. “I took his car…”

He grabbed that set of keys instead and walked back into the garage. He hadn’t driven anywhere since his escape down the mountain, but he knew if he could just keep himself in check he should be fine. The store wasn’t that far away, he could make it, he had to make it.

Waylon paused at the door of the Jeep. The press-pass of the previous owner still hung from the review mirror. “I can’t believe he actually showed up. Poor bastard.” He slid in the driver’s side and took another look at the pass. “Miles Upshur…I’m sorry for sending you that email. I truly am. Not only did I send you to hell, I doomed you there by taking your car. That is, if you were lucky enough to survive.” Waylon had sent several emails out to various journalists, but he didn’t see any other cars parked outside, just this one. Miles was the only one bit the bait that Waylon had strung out behind him.

With that thought, he shook his head and turned the key, starting the dead journalists Jeep.

\---

The kitchen no longer smelled like burnt food and instead had the pleasant scent of a few Italian herbs. Waylon heard the front door open and called a greeting out to his wife.

Lisa stepped into the kitchen and took off her coat; she seemed more than surprised at the set table and delicious looking dinner on the stove. “I thought you said you ruined dinner?”

“I did,” he laughed a bit. “But then I fixed it. It was no big deal,” he gave her a brief hug and kiss; “sorry I worried you.”

“Smells good. Boys, go get washed up, your dad made dinner.” When they had gone she turned back to him. “Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Yeah,” he shifted uneasily. “You know how it is sometimes. I see things, Lisa… But they go away, I calm down, and then I clean up my mess. I was just a bit more panicked today, that’s all.”

“What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he said turning back to the pots on the stove. “It was nothing.”

She helped him drain the noodles and fill the boy’s glasses with water. Lisa ignored the way that Waylon dodged her questions about what he experienced. She wanted to know, but she also knew he’d tell her when he was ready. For now, she just had to stand by him and support him. “So,” she asked changing the subject. “Where did you manage to get the replacement sauce and meat? I thought you said everything was ruined beyond saving?”

“Well,” Waylon said. “It was. Mostly, I never started the noodles so those were fine. The rest I had to go pick up at the store.”

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “You went to the store? Alone?”

“Yeah,” Waylon shrugged. “It wasn’t that big of a deal.” He left out the part where he spent twenty minutes outside the store calming himself down just so he could go inside. He also didn’t tell her that he bolted for the men’s restroom when a worker dropped a pallet of cereal a bit too loudly on the ground behind him.

“How’d you get there? The car was gone with me, don’t…oh Way, don’t tell me you walked?”

He laughed, “No, I didn’t walk. I took the Jeep.”

“The…Jeep…” Then she remembered. “You drove that to the store? It’s not even ours.”

Waylon shrugged and moved the pasta to the table and grabbed the serving spoons. “I didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, the only hard part was using the clutch with a bad leg.”

Lisa grabbed Waylon’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m proud of you baby. I didn’t think you’d come back to us so quickly. You sounded so…distraught over the phone.”

“Thanks, and…sorry I worried you again. I don’t try.”

“I know.” Lisa helped the boys fill their plates with food before sitting down next to her husband. “How did you pay for all this?” She knew he didn’t a have more than a few dollars to his name.

He laughed again. “Uh, I found some leftover money in my coat pocket from a while back, figured it must have been a sign.” Waylon most certainly left out the part where he found a wad of cash in the dead reporter’s car. _Best not tell her that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Thanks so much for the support on Survivors! I love every comment I get, and I value everyone's input.  
> With that being said, I'd really like some input on the first Waylon chapter. I'm about 98% sure that I need to go re-read all of his notes again because I feel like his voice was off.  
> So any input you might have about how I'm writing him would be greatly appreciated.


	7. Separation Only Upon Death

> “When a male lion kills a lion cub from the previous pride’s leader it’s acceptable, it’s even “in their nature.” When a snake cannibalizes another snake it’s natural. Animals attack and kill members of their own species as well as others daily. Some people argue that humans are animals. Humans are nature. So, what is human nature? Is killing in human nature? Or are we somehow above it?”  
>  From: Upshur Without a Paddle the personal blog of Miles Upshur (Unpublished) 

Something dripped onto Miles’ face. _Water?_ His head hurt and the rhythmic dripping didn’t help anything. The drops fell steadily and were… _warm?_ He groaned and wiped a hand over his face to rid himself of the water. Instead of helping the action just spread more wet filth across his face. He opened an eye to glance at his hand.

He sighed when he saw that his hand was dark with what he hoped were nanites, but as his eyes adjusted to the low light levels of the room he realized that the color wasn’t from the machines. “Oh please don’t be blood,” Miles muttered and let his hand fall away. As his hand hit the ground he discovered the source of the dripping. Above him was a pile of organs. They were hooked over a railing and sprawled out over the grated floor. The torso they belonged in was on a nearby stair. “Wonderful.”

Miles sat up and resisted the urge to rub his eyes with the back of his hand. When focused he could put together the pieces of his whereabouts. It was one of the prison blocks; he couldn’t find the letter so he didn’t know which one. But one thing he was certain of, everyone was dead. He was currently sitting on the landing between floors on a staircase. Another drip fell on his messy hair and he scooted out from under the gory drip torture device. It made sense to come to the conclusion that everyone was dead, there was so much blood splattered everywhere that it seemed like the walls had been painted red in some parts. It was too much, even by Mount Massive standards. 

The whole thing felt a bit cartoony, too wrong and not real enough. But he knew it was nothing like that. Only reality could be this twisted and smell so strongly of vomit and metal. He had figured out where he was, but the next step was figuring out how he got here. Miles reached around and felt the back of his head. His hair was matted with blood and god knew what else. He realized quickly that not all of that blood was from a foreign body and that most of it was probably his. “Great, so what? I got hit in the head? Amnesia? Concussion?” He scooted back farther and rested his head against the cool railing of the staircase.  

He tried to remember what he was doing before he woke up. 

***

“No R,” Miles said walking confidently down the halls. “We can’t just murder everyone.” 

_“But Host,”_ R argued back. _“These humans are not friendly. They are not like your pet David. They want nothing more than to tear us apart.”_  
  
“I’m going to go ahead and ignore the part where you called David my pet and instead move onto the fact that you believe everyone here wants to kill me and me alone.”

_“Not just you, Us as well. They want Us.”_

“Why? That doesn’t make any sense.”

_“That’s because you’re stupid.”_

Miles glared at R. “You know? I liked you way better when your vocabulary was limited and you respected me.”

_“And We liked you better when…”_

There was a long pause that became awkward after a few moments. “Hey, R. Earth to R, are you in there buddy?” Miles stopped and waited for R to catch up. “Did your software crash or something? Do you have a virus? Shit I knew I shouldn’t have downloaded that shifty zip folder.” Still, there was no response from the Walrider. “You ok? Seriously you’re freaking me out.”

 _“Sorry…We…We were just trying to think of a time We liked you.”_ Miles swore he could hear the smugness dripping off his static and emanating from his face. _“We couldn’t find one.”_

“Oh my god.” Miles turned his back and stalked away. “You fucking ass!” 

R laughed and floated along after his host. _“We learn fast. And your mind is overflowing with examples of human conversation. We simply picked up on a few things that you do. It’s been…rather entertaining. As well as educational.”_

“Fantastic. First you invade my body, then my mind, now my personality. Is anything on you original?”

 _“Of course. We are old, far older than you, there is much that is unique to just Us and Us alone.”_ He drifted along and added. _“Don’t be upset Host. It is impossible for Us not to pick up on the subtle behaviors of Our hosts. We are also very pleased to have you as our host in particular.”_

“Oh?” Miles turned a corner and headed down some stairs. “Why’s that?”

_“We lack the proper means to convey Our feelings, but your mind is so full of information and so easy to access that We are progressing at a rate unknown to Us until now.”_

“Elaborate?” He wasn’t so sure he liked the sound of R saying that his mind was easy to access. That part bothered him but he was curious to know what the Walrider meant by ‘progression’. 

_”Everything We know We learned on Our own. Most of Our hosts were braindead or severely impaired. Not just in the physical way, but mentally too. They weren’t good tools for observing the world. Billy was better, but We’ve come to discover that his views of the world were very skewed. You’re not like that.”_

“Well I am a reporter; that has to account for some of it. I’ve seen a lot of the world, and what I haven’t seen I’ve read about. I can’t be a good journalist if my head is up my ass and I can’t see past my own prior judgements or convictions,” Miles said. “So my brain is less messed up and that’s the reason you can learn so much?”

_“It is definitely the reason behind Our quick mastery of speech. With that amount of information open for Us, We were able to learn at a rate far faster than ever before. We should actually thank you for that. Thanks.”_

Miles laughed and nodded. “No problem. So, did you pick up your sass from me too?”

There was a rumbling laugh in the static and R passed Miles. _“Wouldn’t you like to know?”_ R held a door open for Miles and continued their previous conversation. _“We think you should kill the inmates that live in the Prison sections.”_

“Again, why?” Miles asked. “And give me a better reason than, ‘because they are violent.’ I get it; we’re in an asylum for the criminally insane. But not all of them wanted to harm me when I first when through that section. In fact some of them were scared of me, most just wanted nothing to do with me. I think it’s not their fault but rather the Engine-“

R cut him off sharply. _“And that is precisely why they want to kill us. The Engine tormented them, destroyed their cells and warped their minds. We are the product of that machine. We are the sole reason why their lives were destroyed and they won’t be too happy about seeing Us in person.”_  He added something else to drive the point home. _“When you first crossed through these parts you were an outsider, an observer. They had no real reason to be angry with you. However now you’re not. Now you are the Walrider.”_  
  
Miles was stumped. This all made sense, but he couldn’t just slaughter that many people on the grounds of they might want to kill him. He voiced that point out loud and R just laughed. “We can’t just go in and kill them. Even you said it yourself, killing people in cages isn’t worth our time.” 

The static buzzed around Miles and R shook his head. _“We shall see Host. We shall see.”_

He didn’t like the sound of that. They stepped through a decontamination chamber and out into the first block. Miles recognized this one instantly. “Ah Cell Block B. I didn’t think I’d ever be back here.” It was much quieter this time around. Before there were people around, Miles remembered a man haunted by voices and driven mad by the static of the Walrider. All that appeared to be left of him were some brown blood stains on the walls and pillars, small blotches that marked where he tried to set himself free. Miles stepped around broken glass and moved to the first door. It was locked but Miles kicked it in. 

Inside it was dark but it only took a second for Miles’ eyes to adjust almost perfectly. “Holy shit,” he said taking in a quick breath. “You really weren’t kidding about altering my sight.” He stepped through the door and took a quick look around. It was unsettling how well he could see. “At this rate I won’t need that camera of mine anymore.” Miles checked under the bed and confirmed that nobody was present. The next two cells yielded the same results. 

The fourth cell had a person in it. He was still alive and came up to the glass when Miles approached. He didn’t seem to register the fact that Miles was there, he just stared vacantly ahead. Miles pushed the door in, the lock breaking easily with his newfound strength. Once the door was open Miles stepped back. The Variant didn’t move, he just stood there like he didn’t know what to do. “You’re free to leave,” Miles said lamely. “You don’t have to stay here anymore.” When the Variant still didn’t move Miles shrugged and left him standing there.

The next cell was very familiar, it was Father Martin’s. Miles still felt uncomfortable calling that man a father, but that term was probably close to being correct. He did lead a religious cult, no matter how crazy it was, it was still technically a religion. For old time sake he walked inside and looked around. Now that he wasn’t scared out of his mind he could take a moment to really observe the room. So many things were scribbled all over the walls. The first thing that came to his mind was that it was organized insanity. _“Host, what is the significance of this room? Your thoughts shifted slightly. Should We be paying attention to this?”_  
  
“No. No, it’s nothing. There was this guy, Father Martin, he worshipped you. He’s the whole reason I’m here now, as your host. It’s because he lead me through this place.”

R nodded. He understood at a basic level that Miles had been trying to escape from Mount Massive that night. However he also noticed that the harder Miles struggled to leave the further he sunk into the asylum. He kept tabs on the reporter through the night, it wasn’t on purpose. He didn’t even know if Billy had enough control to purposefully send him near Miles. But he always ended up nearby. It was like they were slowly being pulled together. _“We think that the man must have known.”_  
  
“Known what? The guy was a nut job. He saw my camera and thought I was the perfect witness to all the bat-shit crazy this place was dishing out. That’s all.” 

_“Don’t lie Host, it’s not fitting. You know as well as We know that you were born for this.”_

Miles looked around the empty cell, at the scribbled words and forgotten prayers. “This? This is what I was born for?” 

R tugged on Miles arm and lead him out of the cell and back on track with what they came here for. A few moments later they had the rest of Block B free and moved on to the C and D blocks. “See R? No murder crazed assholes trying to stab me. Told you this was a good idea.” 

The Walrider seemed less than convinced. _“We have only cleared out two blocks. Do not celebrate. The larger blocks are yet to come.”_

C Block was relatively easy to evacuate. Most of the people there didn’t seem to say anything. They just stared vacantly at Miles and the Walrider. It was unnerving actually. Miles felt like the people here weren’t really reacting to anything, he wondered if they were too broken to be saved. 

It was upon entering the D Block that things took an oddly refreshing turn. When Miles pushed open the gate leading to the main area the whole place came alive with an almost electric buzz of life. There were people banging on their doors, inmates screaming and Variants pacing back and forth. A few lucky people managed to escape and were sitting on partially destroyed tables, just watching. There was a pile of rot that Miles assumed was their current food source. 

When he stepped into the middle a hush fell over the block, then as soon as it occurred the silence was drowned out by shouts that intensified in volume and violent intent. _“We do not wish to say “We told you so” but,”_ R chimed in Miles’ ear.

“Oh shove it,” Miles said clearing his throat. “Can I have your attention?”

“Walrider!”  
“Walrider!”  
“You did this to us!”  
“…Carve you up! Carve you up!”

R started to laugh, the static bounced around in Miles head. He was enjoying being right. 

Miles tried again but his voice was lost in the cacophony of wails. He’d need to try a different approach. Slowly he let the feeling of floating settle over him. The swarm was something he could control, it was something that lived inside him and was him all at once. It felt familiar even though he’d only become the Host a few days ago. He let the feeling wash over him and his feet slowly lifted off the ground. 

The block was a square with cells lining the outside wall, there were two sets of staircases that wound their ways up to the third floor, this left plenty of open space for Miles to hover in. It also gave every single person in the room a good view of him. He let everything go, focusing more on looking intimidating and monstrous than human. Miles was pretty sure it was working because silence returned once more. 

When he opened his mouth to speak his tongue glossed over his teeth and he noticed how sharp they had become. “As many of you are aware,” he started, “I am the Walrider. Or, more accurately I am the host of the Walrider.” Shouts rose up from some of the lower cells. “You are also probably aware of Murkoff’s disappearance and the massive amount of death here in the asylum. Word travels around this place and I’m more than willing to bet that the vast majority of you know full well what’s going on.”

“We know we want you gone or dead, or both!” 

Miles sighed and placed a hand over his face. _You can do this Upshur._ “So here’s the plan. I’m going to set you guys free. The asylum can be your plaything or whatever. I don’t really care. There’s only one rule, stay out of the Administrative Block. If you need to pass through to get to another ward use the courtyard. Any trespassers on my territory will be killed.” 

Someone called out, “Oh look at tough guy over here, he’s got a territory we’re so scared.”

“You should be. While you’ve been rotting in cages the other Variants have set up bases all over the asylum. You’ll have to either kill one and take its place or ask to join. They’re pretty uptight about trespassing too, so watch your back.” 

Voices rose in chatter at this news. Some seemed apprehensive about this newfound freedom they would soon be experiencing; others decided that this would be their time to carve their mark into the asylum. Clearly they were done being playthings and frankly Miles didn’t blame them. He just hoped they kept to themselves and left him alone. Though, he had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case.

Miles decided to start with the top floors and move downward. He went from cell to cell and opened doors, some of them he just wrenched off the track and let fall. A few Variants were impressed and scared at how easily Miles was able to bend metal, or rip locks off of doors. Hell, Miles himself was impressed and scared at what he could do. 

“Shit R,” Miles said as he made an opening in the bars large enough for men to step through. “You weren’t joking when you said you were making me stronger.”

_“Why would We joke about that? The enhancements We are making are slow, the physical changes have yet to begin.”_

“Ugh,” Miles groaned both with the effort of bending metal but also at the thought of his body being modified. “R do you really have to do that? Can’t you just leave me how I am?”

 _“No. You are much too weak. If We are to survive you will need to be stronger.”_  The Walrider helped Miles with the second floor, he took one end and Miles did the other. Together the work went fast. When they reached the bottom cells R noticed one Variant in particular that was interesting. _“Host, Host come here!”_

“What did I say about you giving orders?” Miles stopped what he was doing and walked over to the Walrider. “Boy does this seem familiar. Are you going to make me crush this guy’s heart too?”

_“No Host, not that. Listen to what he’s saying. We think you’ll find it interesting.”_

“What are you talking about?” Miles said as he got closer. 

_“Just listen. We’ll take care of the rest of the prisoners.”_

Miles gave R a puzzled look before he approached the bars. There was a man in the cell, his leg was twisted from cancerous tumors that covered his flesh and mangled his muscle. Clearly this man had been through the Engine a time or twenty. But he was speaking, in a hushed voice he was talking, and what he was saying made Miles’ hair stand on end.

“I don’t belong here, I don’t belong here, I never did. Murkoff, debts to be repaid, my family. I don’t belong here.” 

His words sparked a memory; he had read similar things over and over again in the patient files of Murkoff staff members who had been imprisoned. “Hey,” Miles said to get the man’s attention. 

The Variant’s eyes shot up and widened in fear. “W-W-Walrider.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m the Walrider or whatever. What were you saying? About debts?”

“Murkoff…I worked for them, you know?” His eyes darted between Miles and the other cells and back to Miles. “The others, they don’t care for me much. Something about being a filthy doctor or whatever. I gotta be careful. I’ll end up dead or worse.” 

“What’s worse than…you know, forget I started that question. So you were forced here?”

“Yes. I wanted to get away but they…they wouldn’t let me. I don’t belong here. I’m just a normal guy. You have to believe me.”

Miles examined him once more. It was clear he was a Variant, but there were many different kinds of Variants he’d come to realize. Whether or not this guy was normal anymore was up for debate, but Miles did believe his story. “I do believe you,” he said simply. “There are many others in similar situations to yours.” He leaned forward a bit more and asked, “Can you tell me about the debts? What did they tell you exactly?”

Suddenly the man got defensive. “Why do you need to know? What would the Walrider do with that information?”

“I was a reporter. I mean, I’m still a reporter; I’m just…a bit distracted at the moment.” He could see the man wasn’t convinced yet. “Before I ended up here trapped with the rest of you, I was working on bringing Murkoff down. They’ve done so much…I can’t let them off the hook. Something has to be done.” Miles added one last line to strengthen his story, “But I need all the help I can get. I can’t do this alone. Whatever you know would be a great help.” 

The man shifted on the crappy bed he was sitting on. “Ok,” he said after a long pause. “Murkoff told me and my family that if we fought them for my freedom we’d have to pay back huge debts to the company. They’d say I was lying about being sick and the treatment costs here are…well, not something the average human could ever pay off.”

“So that’s how they get you…they tell you that you can’t fight back or they’ll slap a bill in front of you and take everything anyway.”

The man nodded. “Of course I didn’t argue. I had a family out there; they couldn’t be burdened with that…” He sat up a bit straighter and Miles could see a bit of life float into the man’s eyes. “I hate them. Murkoff, I mean, not my family. After they won, after they got me, after they imprisoned me and forced me through that horrible machine…they wouldn’t stop gloating. My coworkers, people I used to consider friends,” he spat on the ground, “they laughed at me. They treated me like a monkey in a cage and worst of all they’d gloat that they won.”

“Disgusting,” Miles said.

“And whenever I would get mad they’d remind me that somewhere out there was my family and that I’d better behave or something might happen to them.” Miles nodded; he didn’t even doubt that Murkoff could kidnap entire families and make them disappear. With all of their resources and money the company could do almost anything. “They used them to get to me and it worked.” The man broke down into choked sobs. “It worked. I…I did whatever they told me to do. Anything. I just wanted to keep them safe.”

R appeared by Miles’ side. _“Host the rest of the prisoners are free.”_

He grunted an acknowledgement and asked the man, “What’s your name? Do you, do you want me to tell your family the truth when this is all over? I would do that for you.”

There was a bit of silence before the man replied, “My name is Patrick Petryna-“

“Oh! The “team player”,” Miles laughed.

“Yes…” Patrick frowned. “That…” He struggled to his feet and hobbled to the bars. “You asked me if you’d want my family to know the truth, which means you’re not planning on letting me out of here are you?”

“Depends on what here is. The cell yes, the block sure, but the facility…that’s a bit more tricky. A few days ago we set a bus load of surviving patients down to Leadville for treatment, however that was after extensive background checks and I’m afraid we don’t have any other ways of escorting people down the mountain. If you wanted out…I can’t stop you. There’s plenty of holes in the fencing I’m sure you’d find a way out but…” 

Patrick knew what Miles was getting at. He glanced down at his nearly useless leg. “I understand. Besides, I don’t have long to live anyways.” 

“What do you mean?”

“The cancer will spread and kill me. Right now it’s on my leg, but it’s not normal it’ll spread fast. Most Variants that have severe deformities only have a month or so to live. Maybe more if they’re lucky, maybe a lot more if they have proper medical care.”  
_  
“Host We need you for a moment.”_

“Not now R,” Miles said dismissing him. “So you mean that everyone who went through the Engine is going to die without proper treatment?”

He shrugged, “I wasn’t a doctor, even if the others say I was. I worked upstairs in the offices, but I’m not stupid. I saw the documents with the death rates. I watched as cell mate after cell mate were taken away and never returned. We all know our time is limited.” 

_“Host your time is going to be limited as well if you do not pay attention to Us and-“_

Miles wasn’t listening. His thoughts drifted to one person, David. “That mother fucker…  Listen I’m going to open your cell and you’re going to find someplace safe. I’m sorry this happened to you, I’m going to make things right.” Mentally he added that when this was all over he was going to have a long conversation with David about going down to Leadville.

Patrick stepped back as Miles worked the metal bars. He was amazed and slightly terrified at the power the Walrider had. He had heard stories about the project downstairs. No matter how tight lipped a company tried to be something always got out. Perhaps that’s why he’s in this mess right now? Maybe if he hadn’t overheard that conversation at lunch he’d still be with his family? But none of that mattered anymore. What’s in the past was over, and right now he had to focus. “I never responded,” he said.

“What?” Miles said between clenched teeth. His strength was fading a bit after the days’ activities. 

“About my family. Could you…please tell them for me? Tell them everything. Spare them nothing. I want them to know what happened to me and that I didn’t abandon them.”

“Sure,” Miles said stepping away from the bars. “I’ll let them know, I promise.” There was a tickle in Miles’ mind, an annoying buzz caused by R who was getting more and more anxious. “R fucking chill out holy shit.” 

_“Host We desperately need you to focus on your surroundings right now!”_

“The fuck do you mean?”

Miles was about to turn around when Patrick grabbed his arm. “Walrider!” He said quickly. “I…thank  you! Hearing you promise that to me…it means the world. Or at least what’s left of it.”  
_  
“Host…”_

“Y-Yeah no problem.” 

_“Host stop ignoring Us!”_

“And Walrider…sorry in advance.”

”What?”

 _“Host!”_

When Miles finally did turn to face R he was met with a club to the back of the head. His vision swam and then there was darkness.

***

Miles felt the back of head once more. His hair was spiked with dried blood that he was now certain was mostly his. “So I did get hit in the back of the head,” he groaned and tried to stand. Every part of his body was incredibly sore. “R must have dropped me off here then, while he went on another killing spree. Fantastic.” 

His legs were unsteady as he made his way down the blood slicked stairs. “R!” He called out into the empty room. “Hey I’m awake. Let’s get the hell out of here.” But nothing answered him. “R I’m getting sick of your bullshit. Come when fucking called.” 

_“You’re getting sick of our bullshit? Oh that is rich Host.”_ R’s voice filtered into Miles’ head. _“How do you think We feel?”_

“Oh boo hoo, you had to carry me up some stairs then you got to kill a ridiculous amount of people.” He rubbed his head again, it hurt the most and the pounding pain was giving him a hell of a migraine. “I’m supposed to feel sorry for you?”

R was quiet for a moment before he asked, _“Host you think that We killed all these people?”_

“Yeah? I was unconscious from the bat to the head. Last I checked it’s really difficult to murder people when you’re asleep.” 

_“You don’t remember then? Interesting.”_

Miles started to get a bit worried. He glanced down at his hands again; they were still covered with blood and filth. Each finger was tipped with a sharp claw and Miles knew the gunk under the claws wasn’t dirt. “Did you control my body again?”

_“No. We told you before that it is really rare that We will do that sort of thing.”_

“So…I?”

_“It’s easier if We show you. Our memories aren’t damaged.”_

Miles staggered back when visions assaulted his eyes. He was no longer standing in place but kneeling on the ground beside Patrick’s cell. _“Host! Are you alright?”_

He growled low in his throat. “Yeah.” He stood up ran his fingers through his hair, they came back red with blood. “What was it you were trying to tell me?”

 _“The Variants we set free in the other blocks have come together.”_ Miles looked around the room. The Variant who had whacked him was no longer standing near them; instead he was pressed against the wall terror shown in his eyes. _“We think they intend to fight us.”_

“Yeah, probably. We’re surrounded.” Miles felt something in the back of his mind. It was a feeling similar to the one he felt back in the Male Ward. It was extremely pleasant and seemed to grow stronger at the talk of violence. “How many?”

R took a quick scan of the area. _“One hundred, maybe less, We cannot be sure.”_  He swirled around his host protectively. _“You know, if you had just listened to me in the first place we might not have to kill them all.”_

“Who said we’re killing them all?” Miles asked a bit surprised. “I wasn’t planning on doing that.”

_“Weren’t you? Because We were pretty sure that’s how We were reading your mind.”_

“What? No you were wrong.” 

_“We don’t think so. In fact We think you like the idea.”_

“I, I do not!”

R chuckled and assumed a full human form. He pressed himself against Miles’ back and said, _“We shall see when blood begins to spill. Get ready here they come.”_  
  
Miles had never been a fighter, he didn’t know the first thing about combat, but it seemed to come easy to him, much too naturally. He slid his feet apart and raised his fists. Once upon a time he had a policy, it was one of nonviolence. He was a journalist, journalists don’t step in, and they don’t get involved with conflicts. They fight with cameras not guns. Running or hiding was far more comfortable than injuring or killing another. But there was nowhere to run in this situation. Being able to hide was no longer an option. 

The first Variant that was brave enough to charge them was met by a nanite monster that easily lifted him into the air and tore him in half. The other two were a tad smarter and went for the host. Miles was able to dodge their attacks almost effortlessly. His body moved in a way that was so foreign to him. Everything seemed foreign to him now. Miles side stepped a bat and dropped to the floor to knock the Variants off balance. They tumbled to the ground and Mile moved to his feet and stepped down on the throat of one of the Variants. 

He thrashed under Miles’ weight in a panic. His hands tried to grasp anything they could, but there wasn’t anything other than Miles’ own leg. Miles stepped down harder until he could hear the gasping breaths of the man beneath his feet. They were so clear it was like the room was silent. Miles couldn’t hear any of the other voices. It was like nothing else existed. The man broke him out his trance by jabbing a nail into his calf. Miles looked down at the man and pressed harder yet. 

Something in his mind was talking to him again. It wasn’t using words but feelings. It felt good, Miles realized, to feel the life of another drain away under his power. This feeling seemed to scream “step harder, kill him, crush him, show them who’s the strongest.” And Miles did, he grinned and put all of his weight into his foot until he heard a snap. 

He stepped off and looked at the terrified and twisted face of the man he had just killed. Miles was shocked to discover that he didn’t feel bad about killing him. Not at all. R tossed a severed torso in Miles’ direction. “R watch where you’re throwing that shit!”

R just stared for a few moments before the overwhelming feeling of joy washed over Miles. _“You’re learning!”_ R swirled around Miles. _“Host…”_ He sent a wave of pleasure straight to Miles’ core.

“S-Stop that R!” Miles said. “I’m not learning shit!” Miles ducked as a Variant took a swing at his face. “Whatever you think you’re sensing or feeling from me is wrong, got it?”  
_  
“You didn’t feel bad for killing that man though!”_

“Not now R, I don’t want to discuss this now!” Miles took a punch hard to the chest; he staggered back a few steps before swinging again. “We’re fighting for our lives; it’s a totally different situation.” He caught a man’s arm at the wrist and twisted. The Variant howled in pain and dropped a knife that Miles picked up and swiftly cut at the Variant’s throat. Blood swelled out of the wound and the man fell back behind even more Variants that were moving in. “I’m not enjoying any of this!” 

R grabbed two men and threw them against the wall pinning them to the brick. He then reached into each of their bodies and expanded his hands outward showering the floor and surrounding Variants in a rain of blood and organ meat. _“Humans are so fragile Host. This is why We are making you stronger!”_

“R,” Miles said heaving a body off of him. “I really, really don’t think you need to worry about that considering you’re practically an army by yourself.” 

_“But imagine if We weren’t there to help you Host. We can’t always be there for you. That is why We must make you stronger and we must-“_ He paused to rip the head off of a screaming man. _“We must make it so that you can defend yourself.”_  
  
Miles rolled his eyes and backed away from a larger Variant. “I’m doing just fine on my own right now,” he said gesturing to the few bodies on the floor around him. “You haven’t had to come in and save me, and I’m pretty sure this is the worst that it’s going to get for the rest of my life. You don’t need to make me stronger. You don’t need to-“ Miles was slammed into a table by a Variant he hadn’t even seen. Pain flared up in his leg and shoulder. He could see a sharp piece of wood sticking out of his shoulder, the blood slowly spreading through his already soiled white shirt.  
_  
“What was that Host? You’re doing fine?”_

“Oh shut-” Miles groaned pushing the Variant off of him. “The fuck-” he grabbed the chunk of wood and pulled it free from his flesh and buried into the Variant’s. “Up!” The man screamed which was drowned out by the other voices and shouts that echoed throughout the prison block. “I’m fine R! Just fine! I don’t need you to save me!” He kicked the man he impaled to the floor and placed his foot over the wooden spike. “I don’t need you to…” Miles watched the blood well up around the wound. “I don’t need…” He froze. There was that feeling again, that amazing wonderful feeling of having someone’s life in his hands and the desire to take it away. Miles shook his head and tried to clear his thoughts but he found it difficult to make the feelings go away. “I…” He looked down at his enemy, ‘No, my prey,’ and smiled. “I don’t need you R.” He slammed his foot down, sending the spike into the ground below. “I can do this myself.”

 _“Wonderful.”_ R’s voice purred inside his head, so clear and so lovely. _“Host if We may suggest.”_

“Yeah?” Miles said and stabbed another Variant through the heart. “I’m all ears.” 

_“This would be easier if you let your human part take a breather and used the Walrider portion of yourself.”_  
  
“I…” Miles hesitate. “I don’t know about that R…” He looked over at the Walrider who was making a mess of a few humans. There was that buzz again. The one that made him feel like everything would be better if he just let go. “You’re in my head again. Stop it.” 

_“We are just trying to help. We just want to make this easier on you.”_

The tingling feeling of pleasure was back. The morals that Miles held so close were being brought into question. The revulsion of killing was being replaced with joy. He was slipping, Miles knew it. “R get out of there!” 

_“Relax Host. We know that this is the outcome you desire.”_

“R I’m warning you!” If he didn’t do something he knew he’d lose, and then he’d continue to lose over and over again. 

_“Doesn’t it feel good Host? The way they crumble beneath you? You love it.”_

“Stop it!” But he was right. It did feel good. Miles couldn’t tell if it was the overload of chemicals being dumped onto his brain that made him feel euphoric or if it was genuine. “Walrider please, fucking stop.”

R wove around his host, both his mind and body. He knew he was winning. _“It’s only natural.”_

“Natural?”

_“Yes. There’s nothing wrong with being yourself.”_

“I…” But Miles never got to finish his statement, a Variant charged and he had just seconds to react.  He found that the Variant was crushed beneath his hand, a bit of his brain was in between Miles’ clenched fist. In a second he had made the unconscious decision to kill the Variant in a gruesome way. He felt R inside his mind and he realized that he was tired of fighting him. 

They were surrounded by enemies that only grew in numbers. The best chance they had at survival was if Miles allowed himself to be more like R and less like a common human. He closed his eyes and focused on the terrible powers he knew he held within himself. His tongue ran over freshly sharpened teeth and he could feel his senses sharpening with each passing moment. When his eyes opened he saw things in a different light. There were no longer enemy Variants standing in the way of freedom but prey that could be hunted down. 

Miles shook his head violently until the visions started to ebb away. “Don’t show me this.” 

_“Why not Host? We thought you liked knowing what you were responsible for.”_ R floated around the room and sent Miles rapid fire images of them killing the Variants. He made sure to focus on the ones that showed Miles in the most beautiful of forms. The ones where he was a shadow tearing into the humans like they were made of wet paper. And he made sure to highlight how happy Miles was, how full of pure bliss he was when he finally let everything go. 

“Walrider stop it!” Miles screamed and clutched his head. “I don’t want to see this. I don’t want to see myself being manipulated by you.”

_“But we didn’t-“_

“Bullshit! Don’t try to sell me that crap. I don’t want to be like that! I never wanted this and I never will!” He turned to head out of the room. “This wasn’t fighting to protect ourselves. This was a slaughter.” 

_“You were clearly enjo-“_

“R,” Miles said turning on him. “I’m not going to say this again. Stay out of my fucking mind and stop making me do things against my will.”

R was furious but he tried to suppress it. _“We weren’t forcing you to do anything Host! You agreed to let us help you let go. You decided to kill the Variants and you decided to continue the fight even after the enemy started to flee. This was all you Host. None of it was Us. It was you.”_

Miles took in the room again; he saw the amount of blood and gore. “This was all me?”

 _“Yes. In fact We had to stop you from going too far. You were consuming far too much raw flesh. If that Variant hadn’t hit you over the head again We doubt you would have stopped until everyone in this place was a pile of meat.”_  
  
Miles put a hand to his stomach, he was starting to feel sick. “I ate people again?”

 _“Yes. We weren’t watching you as closely as We probably should have been. Sorry.”_  
  
“I’m going to throw up.” 

_“No you’re not.”_ R calmed Miles stomach and tried to search his mind for how he was feeling.

“Get out of there!” Miles threw several mental orders at the Walrider telling him not to dig in his thoughts. Eventually he’d have to learn how to create a wall around his brain but he was much too exhausted. 

R was getting fed up with his Host’s sudden shifts in mood. _“Host you are acting like a child. Why can’t you admit that you chose this path and stop blaming Us for everything.”_

“We’re done talking about this.”

_“Host-“_

“We’re done!” Miles started for the door once more before R stopped him.

_“There are still more Variants that fled the Prison Block when the fight tipped in our favor. What should we do about them?”_

Miles sighed, “I don’t care anymore. Do what you want.”

_“We do not have a “want”. Tell Us what to do.”_

“I don’t care! I really, honestly do not fucking care. Kill them, let them live, chase them around the asylum, do whatever. Just leave me out of it.”

_“Lying has never been your strong suit.”_

“Shut up.”

R floated over to Miles and placed a hand on his back. _“We wish We understood humans better. But We do not. We are beginning to understand you though. But We don’t think that you understand yourself yet.”_  
  
“Get out of here,” Miles snarled. R followed that order, it was easy. He left Miles standing alone in the empty cell block. Miles took one last look at the horrible room before he started to run back for the Administrative Block.

The Walrider was convinced that Miles not only could be a killer but would enjoy it as well. As Miles ran R made sure to send him pictures of humans being torn to pieces either by his hand or Miles’. Miles was able to block a few of them out, but eventually his mental strength failed and the images would flash before his eyes. When he finally reached the Administrative Block he was exhausted. There was a chair in the corner near the window that he lowered himself into.

He was beginning to come to terms with what had happened moments ago. Miles understood that the line he walked between monster and human was thinner than he imagined. He pulled his legs up and pressed his face into them. Through his quiet sobs he could hear someone approach him. The person’s scent was drowned out by the blood that covered his arms and clothes. It wasn’t until the person had knelt down on the floor in front of him that Miles could get a clear reading of who it was.

It wasn’t much of a surprise. It was the only person in this whole complex that was comfortable enough around him to approach. “Miles…are you ok? What happened?” 

“Go away David,” Miles said weakly. 

David couldn’t look away from Miles, he was miserable that much was clear, and covered with blood. “How much of that is your blood?”

“Not enough,” Miles replied. 

“Oh,” David said and made himself a bit more comfortable. “Are you going to tell me what happened?”

Miles was quiet for a long time. The only sounds he made were the byproducts of his crying. Eventually he lifted his head and said through unsteady breaths, “I killed so many people.” 

“Oh Miles…It’s ok, really, I…shit, you know it had to happen…”

“But it didn’t need to happen!” He pressed his face back into his legs. “I’m a monster,” he mumbled. 

David didn’t know what to say or do to comfort the other man. “I shouldn’t have made you go there by yourself. I should have come with. You did what you had to.”

“No I didn’t!” Miles said sharply. David flinched. “You weren’t there, I was out of control.” 

“What happened? You can tell me. I already understand what you are, you can’t possibly scare me. Miles you’re the host of the Walrider, it’s ok.” When Miles did look up again there was only one thing that David could think of saying. “Cool eyes.” 

“What?” Miles was caught completely off guard at the statement. “My eyes?”

“Yeah,” David said and moved to sit on the chair next to Miles. “Your irises are silver now, it’s really cool. Now I can see where you’re looking when your eyes go black in Walrider mode.”

“I didn’t even know they changed.” Miles was quiet again. “I think my teeth are still sharp too.”

“A little bit, yeah. So what’s got you so worked up?”

“A lot of things…where to start?” Miles sighed and leaned his head back. “In the Male Ward almost everyone was dead before I got there. Too many people where too abused to be saved. However the ones that still clung to life…I killed.” David didn’t say anything, he just let Miles talk. “I didn’t kill them like a normal person though, I…I don’t know…used some shitty Walrider power or something. I can apparently use the Walrider’s body as my own and stop hearts and stuff. It’s pretty gross.”

“Do they feel pain? You know, when you’re stopping their hearts?”

“R said they don’t, but I don’t know how much I trust him.” 

David could tell there was much more to the story than this, but he waited until Miles was ready to speak again. “The problems started in the Prison Blocks. A lot of it was fine, we opened up cells and freed people, but then they…they just attacked all at once. I was overwhelmed.”

“And?” David pressed.

“And that’s when things went down the shitter. I’m not good at filtering out R’s feelings from mine yet, and he was able to influence me to lose control, to let the Walrider part of me take over. And the worst part is that I hardly even fought him.” He closed his eyes and sighed. “I hate what I’ve become. I’m just a murder machine.”

“That’s not true Miles. You’re more than that. You saved all those people from the Secret Ward, you’re a hero.”

He laughed. “A hero? Fuck that’s a good one.” Miles held out his hands that were still covered in blood. “What kind of hero goes on a killing spree and actually enjoys it? What kind of hero hunts down humans and eats them? What kind of fucking hero lets a nanite monster take control of him because he saw a little blood?” Miles closed his eyes and whispered, “David I’m so scared right now. I don’t know if I’ll make it out of this. Maybe my body will, but will I? I used to think so. Now I’m not so sure.” 

“I…Miles I don’t know what it’s like to be possessed by the Walrider, but it can’t be easy. I have no idea what it’s like for you, but I do know that more often than not your humanity shows through. I shouldn’t have suggested that you go there. You’re a good person Miles. You’re just…you have something that no one else has, try not to judge yourself so harshly.”

“But what if I lose more of myself? What if I let that part of me out when I’m back outside? David…I can’t…” He whispered, “I can’t leave while we’re connected.”

“Well,” David said slowly, “what if you separate from the Walrider? I’m sure there’s lots of willing followers of the Gospel who would volunteer to take your place.”

“No, that wouldn’t even work. And if it could work I wouldn’t…I wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone else.”

David pressed on, “This doesn’t have to be your burden alone, this isn’t your curse. You shouldn’t have to bear it.” 

“David it won’t fucking work anyways,” He snarled. “I’m connected to the Walrider and we can never be pulled apart. Only in death will I be completely myself again.” 

“And you’re not planning on dying are you?”

Miles grimaced, “Unfortunately, not in the near future. I don’t think I can die, even if I wanted to.”

“How do you know you can’t be separated? Who told you?” 

“Well Doctor Wernicke strongly hinted at it when he told me that killing Billy Hope was the only way to kill the Walrider,” Miles replied. “However I also heard it straight from the horse’s mouth so to speak. R told me the first day I discovered I was sharing a life-force with him.”

“And he’s telling the truth?”

“Why would he lie?”

“You honestly believe a parasite would willingly tell its host how to kill it? I doubt that.”

Miles thought about that for a moment. “Yeah…maybe you’re right. But Wernicke made it sound like he was certain that it was the only way to kill him.”

“Of course, how else would he get you to willingly commit manslaughter? Maybe it kills the Walrider, maybe it just slows him down.” David crossed his arms. “Right now we only have the words of a dead doctor and a parasite. You believe either of them?”

“I did before you put it that way,” Miles said. “I’m starting to warm up to the idea that everyone in this place was lying to me about something.” He stood up feeling slightly better. “I’m going to head down to the underground labs. I’d ask if you’d like to follow me, but it reeks down there and I don’t want to put you through that.”

“It’s ok, I’m just glad I could give you a bit of hope. You seemed so…gone, moments ago.”

“Yeah well, finding out you killed a prison full of people takes a lot out of you.” Miles walked across the lobby, aware that David was following him. “If I were you, I’d avoid both the Male Ward and the Prison Blocks. Not only are they filled with the dead but a few of those wards contain more than enough people that hate me. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind killing you as well.” Miles muttered under his breath, “That is if R left any of them alive.”

“So you think they’ll go after Walrider sympathizers?”

“It’s a possibility,” Miles said. “And you’ve been spending more than enough time around me to solidify your place as a friend.” He turned and offered him a weak smile. “I don’t want that to get you killed.” 

David nodded. “I’ll stick to your territory for now. Which is growing by the way,” David added.

“Great, tell me later, hopefully when I’ve figured out how to rid myself of the Walrider.” 

“Good luck down there,” David said as he watched Miles pry apart the metal gates protecting the elevator shaft. Then Miles was gone, disappearing down in a swirl of darkness.

Miles knew exactly where his first stop was going to be. He didn’t bother with any of the smaller lab rooms, he bypassed the autopsy rooms and the scattered offices of long dead doctors. Instead he set his course for Dr. Wernicke’s room. If anyone had the answers he needed it would be him.

The basement levels smelled about the same as the last time he was down there. Miles couldn’t say it had gotten any worse. Eventually he’d need to figure out a way to air the place out, but that was a train of thought Miles didn’t like entertaining. When he thought like that, it was like he was giving up on ever leaving this place. He walked down the halls, content with just heading to Wernicke’s office until he caught a glimpse of himself in a shattered window.

He was covered in gore and his clothes were in tatters. The formerly white button up was stained brown by filth and drying blood. His pants were ripped and similarly soiled by blood and mud. Even his shoes had seen better days. He was amazed the patients let him lead them anywhere when he showed up dressed in a shirt that still bore bullet holes in it. Before he did anything else a shower would be in order. 

Luckily for Miles the shower room in the labs was large and there was a stall left that didn’t have a rotting body in it. He rummaged through the lockers and found a shirt that belonged to a scientist and a new pair of jeans that were close to his size. Part of him felt bad about wearing a dead guy’s clothes but the other part didn’t at all. These people experimented on others, they watched as the mind and body of their patients deteriorated and they did nothing to stop it. In Miles’ eyes, they were less human than he was.

A comforting thought he took with him into the shower. He was feeling much better about everything when he stepped out clean and dry. He wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to a mirror. David had said his irises had changed colors, something he wanted to see for himself. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what command would shift the color of his eyes. When he opened them he found his reflection was a bit more Walrider than he would have liked. Miles focused again and the shadows fell away from his skin, leaving just the black of his eyes. But no silver, Miles was beginning to wonder if David made it all up to shift the subject. He tried one more time. It was frustrating not knowing how any of his abilities worked. Flying came naturally but the control over his appearance was far harder. Right now he couldn’t rely on the Walrider for information. The beast would certainly ask why he was down in the labs and that was an argument Miles didn’t want to have. He would have to figure out how to control his appearance on his own. He took one last glance at the mirror before turning away to put on the new clothes he found. 

Dr. Wernicke’s office was left mostly untouched by the events of the riot. His door was sealed off with a keycard and the glass was bulletproof. Instead of trying to force his way inside Miles took a look at the door and decided the hinges were the weakest part. He placed a hand on the door handle and the other on the glass surrounding the door. He put his strength into lifting the door in an angle that would break the hinges but it didn’t seem to work. Instead he disappeared down the hall into a maintenance closet and came back with a long flathead screwdriver. He pressed the screwdriver against the hinge and used his unnatural strength to pound the screwdriver through the hinge. It popped off and Miles moved to the next one. In a few short moments the door fell forward and Miles was inside. 

Research had always been Miles’ strong suit but once inside he felt completely lost. He had no idea where to even begin searching for the files he needed. He decided to start with the computer, which unsurprisingly was protected by a password. Miles had a feeling this one wouldn’t be as easy to guess as the one upstairs in his home-base had been. He was a bit discouraged but he wouldn’t let that stop him, there were still rows of file cabinets to be searched. 

It was slow going as Miles shifted through document after document. More than just files on Project Walrider were stored here. There were reports from old CIA mission that failed critically; there were notes on old mind control procedures, hypnosis tests, sleep therapy, dream manipulation and even weaponized thoughts. This was all highly interesting but none of it was helpful to Miles in the way he needed. 

After a solid hour of sifting through documents Miles took a break and stretched his limbs. Often times he would lose himself in research and forget to move around or eat. He couldn’t count how many times he’d woken up bent over a desk with a book substituting as a pillow. When Miles sat back down to continue he noticed two strange things. The first one was that R hadn’t sent him any other mental images, nor had he come looking for his host. Perhaps he got tired of sending the updates or maybe he just got bored. Miles wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what motivated the Walrider to act the way he did. The second thing was far more puzzling. All the text he had been reading was in German.

Miles couldn’t read German. 

In high school he took Spanish, it seemed far more important to learn that than any of the other standard options. A large portion of the country spoke Spanish as the US shared a border with Mexico. As a kid Miles placed that as a priority language to learn, there might be a great many instances where it would be useful to know it. Eventually he took beginner courses in Japanese, Chinese, and German but he was nowhere near fluent enough to read anything above a children’s picture book.

So when he stared down at the document he was in the middle of reading and realized it was all in German, he didn’t know what to think. It was a document on the old dream research that Wernicke was doing back in his homeland. Eventually it would become the precursor to Project Walrider. But Miles had no idea how he knew all this. When he looked back at many of the files he had already read he discovered that they too were in German. 

“What the hell?” Miles studied the documents more and found that the more he concentrated on just reading the words the more he was able to simply read them. It was almost like it was in English the whole time. It felt like his brain was auto translating the words into English even though he had no clue how. It didn’t make any sense. Miles never had this information to start with, so he wasn’t quite sure where he was pulling it from. 

Thinking about it further made his head hurt. He shifted through the documents and created two piles. There was a “shit I’ll read later” pile and a “not important to anything” pile. Anything that had to do with the dream therapy projects and anything with Project Walrider stamped on it went in the read later section. 

He was digging through a cabinet when he came across a series of patient files. They were all from Project Walrider and some of them dated back into the late forties. Miles started to dig through those and was fascinated at how many potential candidates there were for being a host. It seemed like suitable people weren’t a commodity a few decades ago. Then something changed, there was a shift in the number of candidates and the reports of partial to full fusion dropped. The whole decade leading up to Billy only had one successful host and multiple “partial connections.” 

Miles took a chunk of the most recent papers out and sat down on the floor.

MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS  
PROJECT WALRIDER  
Mount Massive CO  
Case Number: 125  
Patient Initials: JJR  
Consultation Dated: 2009.07.11  
Initial Date of Patient Consult: 2009.05.01  
Patient Age: 25  
Gender: Male  
Observing Physician: Dr. Carl Houston (DBNR)

THERAPY STATUS:  
Patient was progressing better than expected. Ascension was projected in a week, however patient expired before ascension could be achieved.  
DIAGNOSTICS:  
Accelerated brain growth caused massive hemorrhaging in the cranium flooding the tissue and cutting off nutrients to the brain.  
Patient died shortly after and Project Walrider was moved to a temporary host.  
INTERVIEW NOTES:  
Before the patient died he managed to say, “I’m free.”  
Patients in contact with Project Walrider should be under heavy surveillance as they could develop destructive behaviors. 

MURKOFF PSYCHIATRIC SYSTEMS PROJECT WALRIDER  
Mount Massive CO

\---

PROJECT WALRIDER  
SEPARATION EXPERIMENT: SE0531  
AUTHOR: DR. WERNICKE  
NOTES:  
Separation method 002 was used on James. The high electrical currents resulted in cardiac arrest followed by death. Project Walrider became separated only upon the death of the host. Autopsy revealed high amounts of metal in and around the heart suggesting the nanites were trying to heal the damaged tissue before the host expired.

\---

Miles found more documents in that same folder. All of them were either separation or termination reports relating to the Walrider. Most were from the early days of the project. They dated back to the fifties or sixties. “R had mentioned he was older than I was by a few decades…It’s surreal to think that the Project Walrider mentioned here is the same one.” He shifted through them and started reading through the different ways they tried to separate the host from the parasite. Miles skipped the termination reports, it’s clear none of them worked. If they did then it would mean that the Walrider was hiding more than he let on.

PROJECT WALRIDER  
SEPARATION EXPERIMENT: SE0216  
AUTHOR: DR. WERNICKE  
NOTES:  
Separation method 020 was used on the host. Scans showed nanite activity stopped and was reversing as treatment continued, however all progress seemed to be lost as soon as the treatments were finished. Host could not be subjected to further treatments as there were no more memories to destroy. Host and Walrider became blank after that, offering no other contributions to the study. Separation only upon death of the host.   

\---

PROJECT WALRIDER  
SEPARATION EXPERIMENT: SE0307  
AUTHOR: DR. WERNICKE  
NOTES:  
Separation method 055 was used on the host. Project Walrider reacted aggressively and the experiment was cut short after five casualties occurred. Host was stabilized and no further tests were run. It can be concluded from this test that causing a near death scenario should not be attempted unless the host has not achieved ascension in any form. Separation occurred upon the death of the host. 

\---

PROJECT WALRIDER  
SEPARATION EXPERIMENT: SE0482  
AUTHOR: DR. WERNICKE  
NOTES:  
The host, Robert, had shown amazing progress in controlling the Walrider. During lucid dream states he could take control of the Walrider and perform mundane tasks under our suggestion. However the strain of hosting the Walrider has proven dangerous to his health. The decision to remove the Walrider from the host was made by myself and several of my colleagues. Separation method 009 was used on the host. During sleep, prompts to the host were made in an effort to get him to order the Walrider to separate. We had high hopes that this would work. However after the suggestions were made the host woke up in a panicked and distressed state. Heavy sedatives had to be used and the host never regained control of the Walrider during lucid dreaming. Separation only occurred upon the death of the host.

\---

The more Miles read the sicker he felt. Page after page ended with the same result. “Separation only upon death, separation only upon death, only when the host died was separation achieved, separation only upon death…fuck.” He put his head in his hands. “Fuck.” He felt himself start to shake. “Fuck…” The papers were scattered all around him. Each one was like a weight dragging him further and further down into the darkness. “Out of all the goddamn lies I had been told in this place…why did this have to be the only truth?” 

_“Host are you alright?”_ The sudden words made Miles jump. When he lifted his head R could see the pain written into his face. His host’s eyes were red from tears that streamed from his eyes. _“Host what is wrong? We felt your emotional state shift suddenly and came to investigate.”_ The Walrider stood in the doorway of Wernicke’s office. He didn’t enter, he waited outside. _“Why are you down here?”_  
  
“I…I was researching.”

_“We can see that. But what did you find that has you so worked up?”_

Miles knew that if he told the Walrider it would only make him upset, so he shook his head and answered, “Nothing. It was nothing. Just stupid human emotions. You know us, broken and imperfect.” 

If R could roll his eyes he would. Instead he just probed Miles’ mind for the answers he was looking for. What he found wasn’t the most pleasant discover he could have made. _“Why would you think We were lying about that Host? What reason could we have for lying?”_  
  
“Because you’re a parasite! And I’m your host. Of course you’d tell me that I can’t get rid of you until I die. Why would you tell me how to kill you?” 

R stared at him. _“Why would We lie?”_ He asked again out of frustration. _“Our purpose is to fuse with Our hosts. We need the host to trust Us. We need the host to accept Us so we can become one. So why would We lie? Why would We plant that seed of doubt?”_ He stepped into the room and knelt down next to Miles. _“We won’t lie to you. Now you’ve gone and stressed yourself out. Come on, you need to rest.”_  
  
Miles felt the Walrider’s cold hands on his back. _“Don’t touch me.”_

_“Host-”_

“I said don’t touch me!”  Miles shouted. “Get away from me. Right now!” 

R stumbled back. The command was so strong he obeyed without any objection. _“Host-“_

“Shut up! Just fucking shut up.” Miles stared directly at the Walrider, there was an idea forming in his head. “I want you to die.”

_“Host that’s not possible, We cannot be-”_

Miles stood up and faced the Walrider. “Die. That’s a direct order.”

R shook his head. _“Host it doesn’t work like that. You can’t order Us to-“_

“Bullshit! You’ll follow any order if it is strong enough.” 

R’s static rumbled in Miles’ head. _“Human, you know nothing of Us. You read a few reports and think you know everything about Us. You cannot order Us to die. It won’t work.”_

“Fine,” Miles said. A dangerous calm had slipped into his voice. “I’ll kill you myself then.” He launched himself at the Walrider who fell against the wall opposite the door to the office. Miles lifted his fist; he brought it back as far as it would go before slamming it into the Walrider’s face. The nanite cluster that formed R’s head dissipated and Miles’ hand struck the wall behind him.

R heard bones break. _“Host stop this.”_

“Don’t dodge. Don’t you fucking dodge!” The next time Miles punched the Walrider it landed. Miles snarled in frustration when it didn’t seem to do anything. He hit him twice more before switching tactics. He raised his hand and watched his fingertips turn to claws. Miles slashed through the Walrider tearing out large chunks of solidified nanites and throwing them across the hall. “Die!” He screamed. “Just fucking die!” 

R watched his host rip into him. He didn’t feel any of it. His body wasn’t really real. The nanites that were crushed or severed were just a few of the many that made up is existence. What he did feel was Miles’ hate, anger, and frustration. It came off of him in waves and grew stronger with each desperate swipe of his claws. He also felt the command resonating inside him. His host instructed him to die over and over again. For a moment, R wanted to comply. For him, his host’s orders were the only constant he had. He was designed to follow them, but the only order he couldn’t follow, no matter how hard he wanted to, was one to self-destruct. It went against his most basic instinct. It was the same one that forced him into his host’s body in the first place and the very same one that commanded Miles to consume large amounts of meat. It was the instinct to survive. 

“Die! Die! Die!” Miles felt tears streaking down his face. “Just die already.” 

R regenerated the portions of his body that were torn away. He knew how this would end. In between the waves of malice R could feel pain. Not only mental, but physical as well. When he made new nanites he used Miles’ body to produce them, and he needed to make numerous replacements. It took a considerable amount of energy to construct the nanites. This typically causes the host a great deal of discomfort, which was something that Miles would be feeling soon.

Miles was getting more and more desperate with each clawful of the Walrider’s body he tore away. He dug in harder and felt his claws hit pavement. “Walrider!” He snarled. “Why won’t you die? Please…just die!” But the Walrider regenerated like nothing had happened. Miles lifted his arm one more time to strike when he felt a searing pain from his ribs. He curled in on himself growling. 

_“Host you should have known this was pointless. We are you. You can’t hurt Us without hurting yourself.”_  
  
“Shut up. Please shut up,” Miles said quietly. He fell to one side too exhausted and in pain to continue. 

The Walrider got up and knelt down beside Miles. _“What’s gotten into you? Your mood shifts so easily and so drastically We cannot keep up. Was it the killing?”_

“Go away,” Miles said into the floor.

 _“We apologize for what happened in the Prison Block.”_ R said calmly. _“At the time We thought it was in your best interest to dispose of the Variants quickly. Your mental state seemed to be agreeing with Us.”_ Miles just groaned and curled up tighter. _“You’re in a lot of pain. We could have told you this was going to happen. You need rest. Your body is overtaxed from the events earlier and this little outburst of yours didn’t help anything.”_

Miles stayed quiet. He knew he was crying but there was no stopping that. “I thought…maybe I could get rid of you.”

_“Host…that is a foolish thought. We are one.”_

“I hate you.”

The Walrider stared down at his host. _“We know.”_ He helped Miles to stand and walked with him to the elevator. They didn’t say anything to each other the whole way. R knew Miles wasn’t interested in talking with him. He knew that his host was in a delicate spot. He also understood that he needed to figure out human society and he needed to do it quickly. There was a large risk that his host might do something irrational and hurt himself in a way R couldn’t fix. _“You are too weak to fly, we will carry you.”_

Miles didn’t protest when R lifted him from the ground and flew him up the elevator shaft. He hardly felt his feet when they touched the floor of the Administrative Block. A voice called out from the lobby. Miles stopped as David came running up. “What are you doing here?” Miles said curtly. 

“I was worried about you, so I never left.” David could tell that something was wrong with Miles. He looked defeated and lifeless. The Walrider was close at his side, almost like it was ready to catch him if he fell. “Are you ok? Did something happen down there?”

Miles knew David meant no harm. He knew that, but that didn’t stop him snarling, “Asshole, this is all your fault.”

“Excuse me?” David said confused. “What is all my fault?”

“This shitty mood I’m suddenly in!” Miles’ anger flared suddenly. “You filled me with hope!” Miles said mockingly, “‘Maybe the Walrider was lying it’s a parasite why would it be helpful?’” Miles couldn’t stop himself. “Well guess what? It wasn’t lying. Death is the only way I’ll stop being its’ host.”

“Miles I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean-“

“Oh, I bet you didn’t!” Miles glared at the other man. “Or maybe you did! You used to work for Murkoff, didn’t you? You sly little fucker. Couldn’t resist fucking with me could you? It is the Murkoff way.” Miles took a step forward and David took several back. “Did you want to see me crash? Did you? Because congratulations you get to see me hit rock fucking bottom!” 

“Miles stop you’re scaring me.” 

He laughed. “I’m scaring you? You haven’t seen scary yet.”  Suddenly there was a strong grip on Miles’ wrist that prevented him from lunging forward. “R let go!” 

R tightened his grip. He might not understand his host completely, but he had enough sense to not allow him to kill this particular human. _“Host stop it. This isn’t going to help anything.”_ R started to drag Miles away towards the stairs. He was still snarling and swiping at David who looked equal parts shocked and confused. _“Knock it off. You’re only going to regret this tomorrow.”_ He hauled him up the stairs and into their room.

Miles went straight for the couch where fell face first into the cushions. R left and returned with a water bottle that he held out for his host. “Thanks,” Miles mumbled. 

_“We…We are confused Host. We thought we were making progress but now we’re-“_

“Not now R,” Miles interrupted and sighed. “I don’t want to talk about this. Maybe later.” He drank deeply from the water bottle. “I should apologize to David. He was only trying to help…”

R quickly said, _“You are not going anywhere right now Host. You are going to rest and get ahold of yourself.”_

Miles sat up and leaned against the couch. “Yeah that’s probably a good idea. I have a lot to apologize for,” he said quietly. “Hey, I’m sorry for what happened back in the labs…” 

_“It is fine Host. You did not harm Us. We knew something like this would happen eventually. Every host fights us. You just took it a bit more literally than most.”_

“I’m just pissed. I’m not sure you can understand. You took everything from me.” He took a deep breath and tried to sort out his thoughts. “When David told me to look into separation I thought it might be possible. I had a bit of hope that maybe I could get my old life back. Maybe the static in my head would be gone and maybe my body would be mine. I guess…I guess I always knew it wouldn’t be possible.”

 _“We are not so sure that We’ve taken everything from you.”_ When Miles looked up he explained. _“With Our help you are still alive. The bullets those soldiers fired, they would have taken everything from you Without Us your life would have ended right there. If anything Host, We have given you a second chance.”_

“Yeah, well, I’m not going to get my privacy back. That’s one thing I know for sure. You’ll always be there.” 

_“We will always be here.”_

Those words sounded so strange to Miles. They were comforting and full of dread all at once. He stood up and grabbed his camera. There was a compartment that held the memory cards within the machine; three slots for three cards. Two of those three were already filled. Miles took out one of them and slipped it into the computer before closing the blinds. He returned and opened a folder containing a long list of video files. The cursor hovered over, “New Year’s Eve 2011”. He opened the file full screen and flopped back down onto the couch. 

As soon as Miles started playing the recording R was transfixed. He positioned himself on the back of the couch, perched over his host so he could see the screen. 

The recording started in a kitchen before moving into a large room, full of people and laughter. “Miles, do you have to record everything?”

“I’m preserving memories. You never know when you might need to remember something.” The camera zoomed in on the face of a human that R guessed was a friend. R knew that humans came in different colors, but this was a color he hadn’t seen that often. Dark brown, warm, and the man’s laugh seemed to fill the room. 

The camera panned around capturing the faces of many other humans. R had never seen so many happy faces in one place. It was intriguing. A girl across the couch from Miles spoke up. “So, now that you’re back in the States, what are you going to do Upshur?” 

Another voice interjected, “I heard you got fired too. Tough luck man.” 

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry. I’ve dug myself out of holes before.”

“Yeah,” Someone else said with a lighthearted laugh, “usually using Julian’s money.” 

“Oh fuck you,” Miles said. “I have big things planned.”

The girl motioned for the camera, “Ok, let’s get this on camera.” Miles passed it to her. “Now what are those big plans?” 

When the video focused on Miles R was floored. He was beginning to understand what Miles had said. His host looked nothing like the man on the couch. This Miles had color to his skin and life in his eyes. He spoke with confidence and seemed so alive. R looked down at his host who was watching the video with tears streaming down his face. This Miles was pale and sickly. This Miles was broken and thinner, his hair was dull and messy instead of clean and well groomed. 

“I’m going to start a news site and it’s going to change the world. I’m going to change the world.”

Everyone laughed. “Come on Miles, you’re a journalist not a scientist. Set your goals a little lower.”

“No way in hell. I’m going to go to the top. Every person in the world will have heard my name. You’ll see.” He grinned and drank from a glass. 

Before the camera was passed back to Miles R saw a man sit down next to him. It was the same warm looking person that R had noticed before. The human put his arm around Miles in a way that R hadn’t seen anyone else do. It seemed natural and Miles melted into it. His host seemed relaxed and comfortable in that embrace. The expression on Miles’ face was one that R never thought he’d see. He seemed so at ease and happy.

R heard Miles sniff softly. These were his memories, and it was clear that there was so much he had yet to learn about his host. R left the couch and disappeared down the hall, it was clear that his host needed the privacy. It had been a strange day for him. Miles was proving to be the most interesting host he’d ever had. 

R couldn’t remember some of the first hosts, but he was well aware of the recent ones. They were never like this. Miles was so different it was shocking. The first few days felt like the other hosts, except that Miles was mobile and more receptive to his voice. But now…now R didn’t know what to do. Miles was something completely new. He never had to deal with how his hosts’ felt. There were never emotions this strong before. The closest he ever got was Billy. That kid had only one emotion to act on, hate. Miles was made of so much more. It didn’t help that most of R’s hosts were never developed enough to share anything with him, and none of them were able to communicate in the way that Miles could.

Holding conversations, expressing opinions and asking questions. This was all new territory for the Walrider and he was terrified of it going down the drain. If he had to guess, Miles would be his last host. There weren’t any other humans left in this area that could support him. If something happened to Miles his existence would also come to an end. It was something he never had to worry about when his hosts were fed through tubes and kept out of harm’s way. It was clear they would never become one, that was obvious. Miles was far too strong of an individual. So R decided he would have to deal with being two separate entities. The host and the parasite. And he needed to start working with Miles, even if the human was incredibly dumb. If he couldn’t figure out a way to work together, chances were high that they would both die. And R wasn’t ready to die, not before he got to see the world.

When he returned he had discovered that Miles had mostly stopped crying and seemed to be weaving in and out of consciousness. R had grabbed some bedding out of an old staff dorm room while he was out. He threw a blanket over Miles who didn’t complain. He could tell Miles was cold, so he hoped the extra warmth provided by the blankets would help.

Miles was vaguely aware of something being draped over him. He looked up to see the Walrider standing nearby. He watched R walk around the couch before sitting down next to him. He didn’t want to say anything so he turned his attention back to the video. They were just about to start the countdown. As fireworks exploded on screen, Miles fell asleep listening to the voices of the past.  

> “I’m not in the most stable of places right now. I want to get out. I really do. But I’m so goddamn scared of the Walrider and of myself that I can’t. I watched some old recordings I made when I was hanging out with my friends. I said I’d change the world. I said everyone would know my name. If I left now, I might achieve that dream. But it might be because I did something horrible… God I want to go back to that time.”  -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy was this a long one. I'm sorry everyone, I know I said I'd try for shorter chapters but this clearly wasn't one of them.
> 
> I'm not sure how well the pacing is in this one. I feel like I tried to do too much all at once and the impact of some scenes was lost. Let me know what you think, please.
> 
> Also R's sense of humor will always amuse me and I wrote the damn thing.


	8. Beauty in the Broken

> “The concept of Gods has always been interesting to me. Religion in itself is fascinating. It’s something that can bring a group of people together. It’s something that defines some people’s whole lives. It can be the center of a whole community. It’s been proven to start wars but also save lives. I think humans need faith to truly be alive. I’m not just talking faith in a god, but faith in general. Faith in yourself, your dreams. You need to believe in something, love, hate, your dog it doesn’t matter. If I’m right and faith is central to the human condition, then it makes perfect sense that religion would also become a key part of what makes humanity humanity. Faith makes us human. I’m sure it can make us just as inhumane as well. But isn’t that the driving force of humanity? To walk that line between good and evil and have one foot in both? Let me know what you think. Should I do a piece on religion? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, but I’m just not sure. What are your thoughts?” -From: Upshur Without a Paddle, the personal blog of Miles Upshur. 

 

_“Host there is nothing on this screen.”_

“Shhh, R you’re ruining the best part,” Miles said waving his hand dismissingly at the Walrider. He was on a couch in a room on the ground floor of the Administration Block surrounded by other patients. Some of them were Variants while others weren’t. His territory had become a makeshift shelter for those who needed a place to hide. Miles wasn’t interested in driving out the weak. They never bothered him and stayed well out of his way. In fact no one ever climbed the stairs to the second floor. Miles was left well alone. As long as they kept to themselves he didn’t mind if a few crashed in the empty rooms below him. 

_“This is stupid Host let’s leave. There are much more important things we could be doing with our time.”_

“No way it’s getting good,” Miles gestured around the room. “Look at how intense the atmosphere in the room is. Everyone’s on edge just waiting to find out what’s going to happen next.” 

_“Host nobody has moved since we got here. They’ve been staring at the same blank screen for over forty-five minutes. We’re not even sure some of these people are alive.”_

“Sure they’re all alive. I’ve never seen a more lively bunch of people. Party animals for sure.” 

R could see his host smirk. He was doing this solely to torment him. When he turned to leave he heard a mental command sound off inside his skull. It was so strong he flinched. It demanded he remain where he was. _“Host,”_ R said as calmly as he could muster. _“This is getting very tiresome.”_

“Hmm? Sorry I wasn’t listening something really cool just happened.” 

_“Nothing happened on the damn TV!”_

Miles chuckled. “What’s this? Are you…getting angry? Is this anger I’m feeling?”

R clenched his fists repeatedly. Ever since the Prison Block incident Miles had been practicing his control over the Walrider. He was getting good. In non-stressful situations he had almost perfect control. What he decided to do with that control was nothing but childish. _“We are merely frustrated.”_

“Not so fun to be the one without control, is it?”

_“This is ridiculous. We’ve only taken complete control from you once. What is this even proving?”_

“That you hate TV.”

_“We do not hate TV. We are actually very fond of-“_

“Hush, the commercials are over.” Miles grin widened when he felt the Walrider’s annoyance rise when he commanded him to stop talking. He was enjoying this. 

The more they sat there the more R was unable to tell if Miles was genuinely interested in the static on the screen or if he was truly just messing with him. His host’s eyes, like the eyes of the rest of the patients around him were glued to the screen. Every time R looked at it, it would seem like there was actually something there. It would flash through the static for only a second then vanish. He was very worried about what kind of affect this was having on his host. 

_“We really think some fresh air would do you good. Perhaps we could walk around outside for a bit? Stretch your legs.”_ R was hit again with a very stern command to stay quiet. _“Host please-“_ This time the order was so strong that R stopped mid-sentence to cringe. Miles wasn’t playing around and R felt like they’d never get anywhere. The two sat in front of the television for well over an hour. R was not only bored but overflowing with concern. 

He had always thought his host was sane, or at least had a decent grip on the world. But now, R was beginning to have doubts. What started as a playful argument and stupid punishment had descended into something much more worrisome. 

“There you are,” a voice said from the doorway. “I’ve been looking all over the asylum for you.” When there was no response the voice asked, “Miles? Are you ok?” 

Finally Miles tore his eyes from the screen. “Yeah, I’m fine. What’s up?” As quickly as his eyes had left the TV they returned. 

“I just wanted to show you something.” David stepped further into the room. “Nothing bad,” he said quickly, “I promise.” He stood awkwardly behind the couch. “Uh, Miles are you sure you’re feeling ok?”

“Can’t you see it?” He asked absentmindedly. “See beyond the static?”

David’s eyes whipped to the screen then back to Miles. It looked like Miles had become entranced by the patterns that burned in and out of the fuzz. “Of course,” he whispered. “We all can see it.” Gently he reached out and tugged on Miles’ arm. “Come on, if you stay here much longer roots will grow from your ass and you’ll be stuck here.” 

Miles laughed, much to the relief of both David and R. It was the first natural sounding thing Miles had done in a while. “Oh come on, the old ‘couch potato’ threat? What are you, my mom?”

“No,” David said, “a friend.”

“Thank god for that. Don’t know what I’d do if you were her.” Miles stood but when the Walrider moved to follow he glared at him. “Not you. You stay here. I want to know what happens at the end, pay attention and tell me.” 

_“Host this is-“_

“Are you arguing with me R?”

_“Host We didn’t mean to-“_

“Stay here.” He made the order crystal clear and left the Walrider seated on the couch among the other patients. It was a funny sight to see all the mostly normal looking people watching TV then the inky form of the Walrider seated beside them. It definitely lowered how threatening he looked.

“What was that all about?” David said as they made their way to the middle of the Administration Block. 

“Just punishing R a bit, nothing big.”

“Ok but…you looked really gone there for a bit.”

Miles ran a hand through his hair, he hated to admit it, but David was right. “It really gets inside you, you know? The Engine, the static. It’s always there, humming and buzzing in my bones. I guess even I’m not immune to getting lost in it.” 

“I know,” he said calmly. “Obviously I don’t feel everything that you feel, since you are far more connected to the Engine as the Host, but I can sympathize and understand at a base level. I…I still see the images and hear the whispers. It’s been months since I was last put in it though.” 

“I wasn’t even in the damn thing, why am I such a perfect match for the Walrider?”

David shrugged. “I don’t know. When I worked for Murkoff they never explained anything to me. My job was to deliver medication, change out bedding, keep the patients in the best comfort I could. When I was committed I was told even less. I sat in front of a screen, got injected with serums and when I protested I was beat. From what I gather there were two stages of treatment.” 

“Two?”

“Yeah, therapy is the first stage. They have this area filled with rooms, in each room is a chair facing a wall of screens. They inject you with a chemical slurry of what I believe is a combination of hormones and sleep aids. Then you are forced to watch a projection of the Morphogenic Engine while you dream with open eyes.” David shuddered and continued. “If you respond well to that, meaning you have a low cell death rate and high brain activity during dreaming, you’re moved to the Engine.”

“The orb things?”

He nodded and said, “Yeah, those. That’s the real deal. When you’re hooked up to the Engine you’re given the chance to meld to the Walrider. Most of us only get one actual Engine session. The machine destroys our cells and warps the brain. I’m sure you’ve seen many of the rejects that the Engine spits out.” 

“Yeah. So what? If you’re compatible with the Walrider do they just keep you in there?”

“Basically. Once Billy achieved over a sixty percent synch rate he wasn’t taken out. The pods kept him alive while the Engine destroyed his insides. He stayed connected for a long time. I can’t imagine.”

Miles couldn’t either. Of course he understood the pain of being connected to the nanites. They flowed through his veins as readily as any blood cell and the Walrider lived inside his mind. But he was stable outside. He didn’t dare think about how it must feel to be trapped in a pod with tubes shoved down your throat and through your nose, watching your own nightmares play over and over again, day after day. “No wonder he went berserk. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did. Must have been a tough kid.”

“Billy Hope lived up to his name. He gave us all Hope. While the scientists were busy with him they didn’t torture us as rigorously. They were still connecting people to the Engine, but at less frequent rate. We thought maybe we’d be ok because Billy would be the one.” David laughed. “Who would have guessed “the one” would end up being a journalist who had never seen the Engine?” 

“Crazy right?” Miles had a lot of questions surrounding how he became the host in the first place. As far he could tell he just barely made the requirements. “All the documents talk about lucid dream states. Like the Walrider can’t be controlled unless the host is asleep. Why am I different?”

“Who knows? Maybe that’s a question for the Walrider? If you ever stop arguing that is.” 

They approached a door that lead out to the courtyard. “We’ll work it out, don’t worry. We sorta have to…” Miles trailed off. “Hey, I’m surprised you still hang around me.”

“Why?” David seemed perplexed. “I thought it was rather obvious. Am I wrong to assume I can call you a friend?”

“No, no, shit, you’re the only person in this godforsaken place I can trust. I’m just…well, weren’t you scared? The other day I tried to hurt you. If R hadn’t…”

“Anyone could tell that you weren’t yourself.” David tried to reassure Miles the best he could. “I can’t blame you for being upset, and I can’t blame you for being aggressive. You are the Walrider.”

“Host,” Miles corrected. “Host of the Walrider, and I’m sorry about what I said yesterday.”

“I know. Don’t worry about it, water under the bridge. You might think of yourself as a ticking time bomb but I’m pretty confident you’ll stay yourself.” 

“Maybe…” Miles wasn’t convinced but he’d much rather believe he would be ok. “By the way, you went through the Engine right?”

“Yes, only once.” David fell silent. “I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you.” 

“Yeah, no problem.” Miles didn’t know how to approach the topic he wanted to bring up. It was one he knew would cause a disagreement but he had to try. “When I was in the Prison Block, I uh, heard something interesting from a patient.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, it was this guy, Patrick, he claimed he used to work for Murkoff too. However he said something that made me a bit concerned…for you.”

David stiffened slightly, but it was enough that Miles caught it. “What do you mean? I assure you that I’m fine, Miles. The Engine didn’t touch my brain like it did the others.” 

“No, it’s not that…”

“Are you implying that I’m still working for them somehow?” David gave a short laugh. “Because I’m definitely not. Don’t worry, I won’t sell you out or anything.”

“No it’s not that either. Damn it. Why didn’t you go down to the hospital with the others?”

David stopped walking. “I…I felt like I was more useful here.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s not bullshit, how can you say that? Are you me? Can you get inside my head with your Walrider powers?” When Miles didn’t answer he said, “I could have left with them, sure. But who would have stayed behind to make sure you were ok?”

“I don’t need you to watch over me. I’m not a child.”

“You put the Walrider on timeout because you had an argument.”

“Damn it David you’re going to die!” Miles said suddenly. “Patrick told me that everyone who went through the Engine grew cancerous tumors that spread rapidly without treatment. You’re no exception. You need to leave here, you need to let me fend for myself and you need to get help. Shit, you have a family, they’re waiting for you.” 

“No.” David shook his head. “I had a family.” He walked towards the right side of the courtyard. “They aren’t waiting for me, they’re waiting for him.” 

Miles stayed where he was for a few moments. “Shit,” he muttered and jogged to catch back up. “So,” he said trying to change the subject, “where are we going exactly?”

“I wanted to show you something that wasn’t horrible for once.” David said, glad for the different topic. “It’s something I think you’ll be oddly proud of. They’ve been hard at work for a few days now.”

He didn’t ask any more questions. David would explain, he knew that. They walked along the fencing between the Male Ward and the Inner Courtyard. There was still a wide open gash where the church was. It stood out, harsh and black. The fire destroyed all four levels of the building and left the remaining parts of the building unstable. Miles couldn’t stop himself from thinking about Father Martin.

“Did he know?” Miles mumbled to himself. “Somehow, did he know that I’d be perfect for the Walrider?” Whenever he thought back to that day and to Father Martin something filled him with unease. The priest had started the whole tour of hell. He lifted his eyes to the charred remains. “He worshipped you…” Miles said more to himself than the Walrider that wasn’t next to him. “It was deliberate, it had to be.” An elaborate set up to get Miles to fall under the right conditions to be possessed. 

“Miles?”

He turned to glance at David. “Sorry I got lost in my thoughts for a moment.” 

“It’s ok, we all have those moments. What were you thinking about?”

“Father Martin.”

“Father? So you knew him as a priest?” 

“Yeah,” Miles said while he fell into step with David. “He called me his apostle, his witness. Told me I could escape if I just followed him. Of course, he was lying like everyone else in this place; but I didn’t figure that out until it was much too late.”

“Martin was a crafty man. Caught up in his own illusions, sure, but the man was smart. He’s actually part of what I’m going to show you.”

“Don’t tell me you found his crispy ass? He couldn’t have survived right?”

“No, no. He didn’t live,” David said. “But,” they turned a corner and Miles’ eyes widened. “Part of him survived though.” Miles was standing before a crudely built wooden structure. He could tell it was intended to be a church; it had a tall steeple at one end and what appeared to be salvaged stained glass lining the sides facing the sun. 

“What is this?”

David smiled wide. “The remaining members of the Gospel of the Sand would like to formally welcome you to the new place of worship.” He held his arms out wide, Miles could read his face, it was brimming with pride. From behind David patients started shuffling out. One by one they stood in front of the building. “We would be honored if you, the Host, would sit in during our first sermon.” 

Miles had never been a religious man. All through his life he dodged the holy book and snuck around the subject; like a dog avoiding the accusing glare of a master after doing something wrong. Miles always felt like he was soiled, like he didn’t belong in a place of holy worship. It grew easier to side step as he grew older and by this point in his life he had never questioned his faith. But here he was, standing before a building built to God. But he wasn’t being asked to kneel before the Lord. He was God.

He had no idea how to respond. 

“T-Thank you, David,” he finally stammered. “I...I don’t know what to say.” 

“Then don’t say anything,” David said reaching out his hand. “Just come in and listen.” 

Without thinking Miles took the hand and was lead into the church. He realized quickly that the structure was built into the side of the asylum. Some of the old support beams ran along the top of the building. They were strong, sturdy boards that provided an excellent foundation for the rest of the church to be built around. Benches had been painstakingly moved from the abandoned worship portion of the building between the Male Ward and Hospital Block. Miles had only glimpsed that area once while exploring, but he recognized the wooden benches. 

At the front of the building standing behind a pew was a man Miles did not recognize. His face was marred in a similar fashion to David’s, it suggested that he had been through the Engine. However also like David, the man’s eyes seemed alive with light and understanding. This person had not lost themselves. In fact, Miles was almost willing to bet that he seemed more alive than ever before. “Who’s that?” Miles asked.

“Morgan Samul,” David answered. “You knew him as Doctor Samul, we know him as Father Morgan.” 

“Father huh? Martin’s replacement?”

David shifted awkwardly. “In a way, yes. Father Morgan began preaching shortly after Father Martin started the Gospel of the Sand. They disagreed in some areas of the Gospel. Father Martin, obviously, saw devotion to the Walrider in a different light. He believed that to truly become one with God you must sacrifice yourself, body and mind. You must purify yourself and offer yourself to him. Father Morgan on the other hand, takes a more…realistic approach.”

“So nobody going to be burning on a cross today?”

“No,” David laughed. “Today is just a normal day.”

Miles watched as the Father started walking towards them. “You know I’m not a religious man, right?”

“No,” David said, “but I’m sure you’ll survive one service. It means a lot that you showed up.” 

Father Morgan stopped a few strides from Miles. His expression was a mix of fondness and happiness. “Greetings, Host.”

“Miles is fine,” he replied awkwardly.

“I would never imagine myself on familiar terms with you, Host. I wish to keep things professional.” He held out his hand for Miles’ to shake. When Miles did so, Father Morgan grasped it with both of his. His hands were warm, worn like leather, but soft and pleasant. A stark contrast to Miles’ cold hard hands. “I, we, were hoping that the Walrider would be present during our first service. But it is not with you.” 

Miles’ eyes widened a bit. “How do you know he’s not here right now?”

The skin around Father Morgan’s lips wrinkled in a smile. “I can feel it, I can hear it too. I wouldn’t dare call myself a preacher if I couldn’t communicate with God.” 

“You can hear the Walrider?” Miles asked. He didn’t believe that someone else could decipher the static, but he remembered that R said there could be others. Maybe Father Morgan was telling the truth.

“Oh yes, I can hear it. The voice of our God speaking through the static. It’s not constant, mind you, not like what you must experience. But I can catch it now and again. In fact, back when I was still with Murkoff, as a doctor, it was quite the cause for alarm. Imagine, a doctor being able to hear what was labeled as whispers of the insane. What did that mean? Some, like yourself, might view what happened to me as a tragedy, but I like to see it as an awakening, a reimagining of my life.” He released Miles’ hand and offered him another warm smile. “Where is the Walrider, if I may ask?”

“I uh…put him on time out.” Miles shrugged. “We got into an argument, I’m proving a point.”

“I…I see. Your relationship is not at all what I imagined. I believe we could all learn from you, if you would permit us the chance.” 

“Yeah, why not?” 

“Wonderful. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get started. It was a divine pleasure to meet you, Host.” 

David chuckled as Father Morgan left. “It must be odd to find out that the Walrider is not your superior, nor is he your equal. I know I found it shocking.” 

“You did?” Miles asked and took a seat next to David. 

“Of course. During my confinement I listened to many of Father Morgan’s lectures. The combination of his lectures and the experiments done by the scientists made many of us not only believe the Walrider existed, but feel him as a real godlike force. Something tangible in this world, a presence that could protect us and lead us to salvation if we prayed. So yeah, I was a bit surprised to see that it, sorry, he, was not only a separate being but one under your command.” David laughed and added, “The name thing threw me too. You just named a guarding deity Rider. We’ll have to change everything over.”

“You don’t have to,” Miles said. “R’s just something I call him. No one else has to.” The rest of the Variants and patients started to file in and take their seats. Nobody joined the bench that Miles and David occupied. “Never took you for the praying, religious, fanatic type.”

“I wouldn’t call myself a fanatic,” David said. “Sometimes, when the world gets really dark, you need a light to look to. Traditional gods weren’t cutting it as lights for me. I needed something else to keep me grounded or I was afraid I’d lose myself and drift away. The Gospel of the Sand provided an actual force that I could fixate on. Something to give me hope while my life disappeared before my eyes.” David gestured to the rows of Variants that filled the space. “Many of them are like me. Grasping at something to give their lives hope, or meaning. To us, God is real, he’s sitting on a couch somewhere looking at static because you told him to.” 

Miles chuckled and turned his attention to the front of the church. Father Morgan was about to begin. “We have been blessed with a visitor today. As many of you know the Host has joined us. We are all lucky to have him here. The Walrider is on our side, that has never been clearer than it was today.” 

“When I look out at all of you I see a group of individuals who are strong, who are loyal and who have fought for everything they have. I see you, but I also see your hopes and dreams and I think the Walrider sees that too.” He opened his arms wide and continued. “There is no coincidence that it has decided to appear before us now. It knows as well as I know that we are worthy of its presence, of its protection! It has come to us now to give form to our hope. “

Miles zoned out midway through the opening speech and just listened vaguely to what was being said. He knew he wasn’t going to lead these people anywhere; salvation was definitely out of the question. The Walrider wouldn’t be doing any leading either. He doubted that the creature could muster up enough empathy to care about one person. They were wrong in that regard. The Walrider wasn’t a God and he wasn’t going to save them. Hopefully Miles would be out of the asylum before the food runs out and their God decides to eat them.

But then again, maybe they’d be happy for a chance to be eaten by the Host. Miles didn’t want that to become an option. He didn’t want to admit it, but that was a fear of his. Eating human flesh was something that Miles had proved he could do, both of his own free will and not. That scared him. Once in the outside world he’d need to be able to feed himself. Money was something Miles had, but not a lot of, and certainly not enough to fund his overly large appetite for very long. 

Sudden pain washed over him. He gripped his pants and ground his teeth. Thinking of food made him hungry; needle like pricks seemed to run up and down his intestines. But it would pass, it would have to pass. He already ate today, he should be fine. It seemed like the triggers were getting smaller and smaller. Just the mere thought of eating was enough to raise his heartrate and cause him to sweat. Miles forced his eyes shut and pushed the air from his lungs slowly before drawing more in. There was a hand on his back, gently rubbing. “Hey, you don’t look so good.” 

“Fine,” Miles grunted with effort. “I’m fine.” Carefully he let go of one his pant legs and opened an eye to look. His hand wasn’t shaking, he’d be ok. When he looked up he had to swallow back bile. For a second his eyes scanned the room and didn’t see people, but food. “I’m just…”

“It’s ok, you don’t have to answer.”

Miles nodded and tried not to think about it. He especially tried not to think about the way his tongue ran over sharp teeth. Teeth that were prepared to rip through skin and muscle.

A few days ago something got inside him. He tried to deny it but running wasn’t working. It got in and it was changing him. Miles looked up at the stained glass and decided to pray. He didn’t know who he was praying to, but he did so anyway. _“Don’t…Don’t let me fall. Please. I don’t want to change into a monster.”_

The silent prayer was interrupted by a sound. Singing. While he was zoned out he didn’t notice the command to start the song. It was one voice at first, alone, but strong and steady. Then others rose up to join it. Miles didn’t understand the words, or maybe he did and maybe he chose not to understand. 

Soon the building was filled with the song. Miles looked from Variant to Variant; everyone was singing, or at least trying to. He hadn’t experienced anything like it. It filled him up with so many emotions he felt like bursting. For the first time in a while, hope filled his mind and droned out the static. The song was light and seemed to drift around everyone. He became lost in the swirl of voices.

For the most part the chorus sounded as one, each voice blending in. Miles couldn’t believe what he was hearing, it was almost magical. The song lifted the spirits of everyone. They sung loudly and proudly. Miles realized that these men sang with broken voices, they had throats marred with cancer or mouths recovering from being sewn shut. Even the mutilated tried their best to contribute to the song that weaved everyone together. If they couldn’t sing the words they hummed the rhythm instead. 

“Miles?” He heard David’s voice beside him; it was the only thing not in synch with the rest of the room. “You…You’re crying…”

“It’s beautiful,” Miles said softly. 

\---

_“Where were you today?”_

“Out,” Miles said while he stirred a pot of chili beans and canned meat.

_“Out where?”_

“Why are you up here? I thought I left you downstairs by the TV?”

R sighed, _“Your control slipped and We were able to move freely once more. We wish to know where you went Host, not because We believe you have no right to privacy, but because We were able to feel your thoughts and they were very unsteady.”_ When Miles still didn’t answer he added, _“We were concerned.”_

“I…” Miles sighed. “Goddamn it. I went with David, he showed me something ok?”

_“What was it? You were all over the place.”_

“I know. It was weird. He took me to see the new church for the Gospel of the Sand.” Miles turned the burner off and took the pot back to his room. “It was…shit I don’t know what to think about it,” he said to the Walrider. “Something happened back there.”

 _“Clearly,”_ R said simply sitting down next to his host. _“Your emotions shifted rapidly a few times. What did you see?”_

“It wasn’t what I saw R, it was what I heard, what I experienced.” Miles took a large mouthful of beans and swallowed. “I’m…I’m not ok with being thought of as a god, nor do I like the idea that they view you as such. But…it was so… _beautiful._ R it was…words are failing me. I was moved, brought to tears.” He focused on the chunks of meat floating in the beans. “Those people…they are so broken yet they sang with such strength and unity I couldn’t help but get lost in it.”

R didn’t quite understand, this was one section of human emotion he hadn’t understood yet. But his host was certainly moved by whatever he witnessed. _“Are you going to be ok?”_

“Why do you ask?” 

_“You…how do We put it…slip, sometimes. Today we’ve noticed it three times.”_

“Slip as in lose control over you?”

 _“No,”_ R said calmly. _”As in you lose sight of yourself, your precious humanity and sink into nothing. It’s like…like you’ve become one of Our past hosts. Dead inside.”_

Miles almost dropped his fork. “What?” He scrambled to put what R said into a context he understood. “Are you suggesting I’m becoming overwhelmed? A vegetable?”

 _“Perhaps. We don’t know. You are so strange Host, We just don’t know.”_ R tried to add a spot of reassurance into his static but he didn’t know if it worked. _“You came back though, each time. So that’s good.”_

Miles was too busy trying to figure out when he could have had these slips. “The TV, the singing and…” He couldn’t think of a third. “You said three right? What qualifies as a slip? Because just before the song there was a moment where I felt less like myself.” 

_“Go on.”_

He stirred his beans a bit. “I got hungry. Even though it wasn’t feeding time. I thought of the people in the church like cattle. A product for me to harvest and consume. I had to work really hard just to avoid ripping off and devouring David’s hand on my back. Do those moments count as a slip?”

_“They could. Host We would be lying if We said We were not concerned. This asylum isn’t good for you. How much longer do you have until you are done with your research?”_

“Fuck, I don’t know. I haven’t really had much time to work recently. I’ve been too busy dealing with you or the Variants. Maybe a week? If I get started right away tomorrow.”

_“We would suggest that you get started immediately then.”_

Miles stared down at the food that filled the pot. Enough to feed four adults. “R be straight with me. What are the chances that I become a monster and end up hunting down humans and eating them?”

There was an uncomfortable silence that filled the room after the question was asked. _“We do not know.”_

“Be honest.”

 _“We really do not know. So far you’ve been able to stay on a feeding schedule that works with the rhythm of your body. As long as you keep it up you should have no problems. Your mind stays yours as long as you do not get put into a situation where the instinct to survive overrides your normal actions.”_ He shrugged. _“If the outside world is truly as boring as you claim it to be, you should be fine.”_

“Right…” Miles did feel a bit better after that. “Ok, good. So just eat and I’ll be ok?”

_“Yes.”_

Miles took a few more deep breaths before he returned to eating. “Hey I have another question.”

_“Yes Host?”_

“I don’t know if we’ve talked about this, but how come I don’t control you when I’m sleeping? How come I can command you while I’m awake? Every single other host had to be in a deep sleep to be able to control you. That was the whole point of engine training. So why am I different?”

 _“The Engine,”_ R snarled, _“is a laughable tool used by foolish humans to try to make a home inside a mind for Us to live in. Sleeping and dreaming are when the brain is arguably the most active in your species. The scientists aren’t dumb, they knew this. They put patients to sleep because it proved to be the easiest way to have them take control of Us.”_ R leaned back on the couch and gave Miles a thoughtful look. _“You are fully compatible with Us. You do not need your brain to be asleep to access its full potential. For you the waking world is far more powerful than the dreaming one.”_

“So what you’re saying is that I’m more suited for you and that’s why?”

_“You break all the “rules” of Project Walrider because you were the person the program was trying to create. A sentient host who can contain Us and control Us without the aid of a machine. Our presence in your body isn’t fully positive, We know you are in a mild state of pain most of the time, We also know and understand that while you sleep your brain and body are recharging. You use sleep for its real purpose, not as another avenue of control.”_

Miles’ fingers moved to his chest, he felt around the bullet holes that still littered his skin. “It’s not that bad,” he said. “The pain…it’s not that bad anymore.” When things calmed down Miles was able to relax and get a feel for his body’s condition. R was right; there was always a nagging pain that pulled at him gently throughout the day. “Billy couldn’t live without the help of machines. Will that happen to me?”

_“We do not know. We hope not. Right now your body is strong and it is mixing well with Our cells. Billy was not able to contain Us within his body, it rejected Us as much as it accepted us. You on the other hand seem to be coping well. We cannot say it’s perfect, the pain you feel is proof. But We do not think your body is going to need additional support. We are a near perfect host and parasite.”_

“I see…” Miles finished the last of the beans, sickened still by the amount of food he ate. “Hey, on a different note, I eat a lot of food right?” R nodded. “How come I don’t shit mountains and piss rivers? I would have thought that the constant large quantities of food would mean I’d have to frequently use the bathroom, what’s up with that?”

The static seemed to laugh around Miles. _“Simple. We have already begun to change the way your body processes nutrients. It was quite inefficient before. We have specialized cells working in your gut to break down and carry away more parts of the food items you ingest. They are much better suited than your naturally occurring ones. However We would like to help your body synthesize its own cells for this same job, but We do not know how yet. For now, we’ll handle the breakdown of your food.”_

“Changing stuff around still?”

_“Of course, We have only just begun.”_

Miles stood up and stretched. “Sorry, about this morning. I over reacted.” 

R nodded, accepting the apology. _“You are frustrated and upset. Rightly so. Your mind is a fragile place and We are starting to understand that.”_

“I need a few moments to myself, I’m going to head up to the roof.” He opened his window and stepped out onto the ledge. “I’m not planning anything stupid, so you don’t have to worry.”

 _“We would know even if you were.”_ R said simply. 

Once up on the roof Miles had time to think again. He wanted to reflect on the day, but his mind was still too turbulent. Thinking was proving to be harder than he had thought. Instead he watched the sun. It wasn’t close to setting, but it was enough to darken a bit of the sky. Miles was careful not to get lost in himself. Now he was worried about these “slips” that R had told him about. He didn’t want to snap to and realize he lost time.

R told him he had to leave the asylum. But how could he now that he knew that people counted on him for guidance? Miles knew he wasn’t a god. He knew he was far from it, but it didn’t stop him from thinking that he now held a place in this fucked up ecosystem. Part of him didn’t want to leave because part of him felt like he belonged. 

A voice called from the ledge. “Hey, could I get some help?”

Miles peered over the edge and found David standing awkwardly on the windowsill. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to talk. The Walrider pointed to the window. I figured you were out here somewhere.” 

Miles smiled before he said, “You know, I was having a nice peaceful moment. You kinda ruined it.”

“Oh,” he looked crestfallen. “I can, uh, go back.”

“No, it’s fine.” Miles held out an arm for David to grasp. In one fluid motion he hauled him up onto the roof. It was like David didn't weigh anything. “Couldn’t get enough of me today?” Miles asked jokingly. “Got a bit of separation anxiety? Or maybe,” he raised an eyebrow, “you couldn’t resist my charm?”

“I’m a married man Miles and your charm is like a slightly deflated balloon. I can see what it used to be, but it’s sorta just wrinkled up and barely floating.” He sat down next to Miles. “No, I wanted to talk about the Engine with you.”

Miles frowned. “Didn’t you say you were uncomfortable talking about it?”

“Yeah but…shit I get these nightmares Miles, I thought maybe if I talked about it it’d help me sleep better at night.”

“Oh. Ok yeah sure, so uh…Where do you want to start?”

David took a deep breath and said, “I can’t stop reliving those moments. I just remember being detained and beaten. I hear the guards and I hear Trager. Over and over again, the same stuff. I remember my last moments as a rational, completely normal human. I see their smirks, and hear my own voice screaming in my head. And that’s before I was put through therapy.” He wrapped his arms around his chest tightly. “What I remember from that is worse…” 

Miles listened as David spoke, and as he cried. There was raw pain emanating from him. He was hurt and Miles wasn’t sure he could help. All he felt he could do was listen and be there next to him. 

David talked about horrible things. The things he saw in the Engine were nothing short of nightmare fuel. He said that the Engine took all his worst fears and enhanced them, amplified them and merged them into one. All the loneliness and hatred wound their way up his spine and into his brain.

“I’m scared that I’m not the same person I was before all of this. I can remember parts of me. I have days were everything is so crystal clear. I remember that I love helping people, and I hear my wife’s voice, I see my son walk across the stage on graduation.” He choked back another sob. “You asked why I didn’t go get help. Maybe it’s because I know I don’t deserve it.”

“David that’s not true,” Miles protested gently. 

“I’ve eaten people…”

“You said it yourself, there’s worse things you could do in this place.” 

“I’m broken Miles.”

“We all are.” Miles looked away from David and back to the sun. “Every one of us is broken. Some more than others, but just because you’re broken doesn’t mean you can’t be fixed.”

David didn’t say anything for a while. “How can you do it?” He said breaking the silence. 

“Do what?”

“Have that thing in your head? I can hardly stand the small amount of static that stalks my brain but you… You grin and bear it every day. Doesn’t it eat you alive? How can you get up every morning with that monster eating away at your sanity and dissolving your brain?”

“I…” Miles shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s become like background radiation. Most of the time I don’t even notice it. In fact, I notice its absence more than I notice it being there. Even the subtle vibrations of my bones I can ignore. I guess you can get used to a certain type of pain.” 

“Do you see things?” David asked.

Miles shook his head. “No, not like what you have to deal with. I don’t see the flashing ink blot tests, at least not anymore. I did… those first two days. Whenever I closed my eyes. But now it’s better. I think I’m stabilizing. Acclimating, if you will. R said that I am the perfect host, he said that I am the perfect result.”

“You’re lucky then.”

“I guess I am.” 

“I just want the nightmares to go away Miles.” David fell backwards so he could look up at the sky. “I want to get better, but I’m scared I won’t.”

“That’s something we’re all afraid of.” Miles kept his eyes on the horizon. He watched the clouds reflect the dying sun. They were soft orange blots against a purple sky. It was in moments like this where Mount Massive became truly gorgeous. The mountain air was finally starting to become crisp and clean, the taint of death was slowly leaving. It was serine, majestic even. A peaceful illusion of tranquility. It was the perfect place to forget yourself.

 

> “I think when this is all over I want to buy a house in the mountains. A small cabin overlooking the woods where the sun seems to get swallowed by earth. I suddenly feel whole when I look at the rising peaks of mountains. It’s like I’ve found where I belong. Home. I never felt this way before. A cabin in the mountains. I think I’d be ok with that.” -From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter down!  
> We're slowly making our way to the end of this arc. Not much is left to do at the asylum.  
> I might be making some changes to the end of this chapter when I start working on the next part. I'm not sure if I'm 100% in love with the dialogue or pacing near the end. I'll be sure to make a note at the start of the next chapter if I do make any significant changes.  
> Also another side note, the character of Father Morgan is actually based on another side character that's mentioned in a note in the game. There was a doctor who could apparently hear the Walrider. They never said what became of him, but I'm willing to bet that he didn't get to continue working for Murkoff. EDIT: I mixed up the names of that side character, I was mistaken, it was not Saul but Samul who was the doctor. My bad, it's been changed. 
> 
> Next I would like to thank each and every reader of this story. I can't express how much each of you mean to me. This project is a labor of love and the support and comments I receive make my day. I've been blown away at the comments left so far, each one has been an absolute pleasure to read. I encourage you to keep letting me know what you like and don't like about the story.  
> Your feedback is important and I hope that you all stick around for the rest of the story.  
> Thank you.


	9. Hurt Them Before They Can Hurt Me Again

He woke up screaming.

His chest felt too tight, he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, it was like his ribs were a cage or a snake slowly constricting his heart and lungs. He was going to burst, he just knew it.

The room was dark, or maybe his eyes hadn’t adjusted, maybe his eyes didn’t work, he didn’t know. He sucked in a small breath which gave far too little precious oxygen. He tried again and again to get more. In his head he heard screaming but he couldn’t figure out if it was his or someone else’s. His vision still hadn’t come into focus, the world was still black. But something was cutting through the screaming, a voice. It was soft, but worried.

“Way………..lon….wa…lon……..waylon!” It was his name being repeated desperately. Parts of it came through the screaming pressure in his head. He could hear it. “Waylon please stop, calm down,” the voice kept saying his name. It never rose in tone and it stayed a steady rhythm. It was calming, soothing. Waylon felt himself relax. 

That’s when the screaming finally stopped. In that moment of silence he understood the two voices he had been hearing. One was his own, and the other was that of his wife. Hers had been the calm, nurturing one. The same voice she used on his sons when they had bad dreams. In this instance, he was the kid who had a nightmare.

“Is Dad gonna be ok?” Another voice sounded off to Waylon’s right. 

“Yeah, yeah sweetie he’ll be fine, he just had a bad dream.”

His eyes had finally adjusted to seeing in the dark, or perhaps to seeing the waking world, he still couldn’t tell. When he tilted his head he could see the outline of two small figures standing in the doorway. “I’m sorry,” he said, but his voice was hoarse and cracked from screaming. “Did I wake you? I didn’t mean to.” His ears were ringing, from what he couldn’t decide. He prayed it wasn’t the Engine coming back for him.

Their faces held a combination of fear and worry, two things a father never wants to see reflected at him. “You sure you’re gonna be fine?” Alex said. He had always been the more emotional one. 

“Yeah buddy, I’m fine. Just a bad dream, like your mother said.” 

“Do you need some warm milk?” 

Waylon smiled. “That would be great. Come on, let’s all get some.” When he got out of bed he noticed that his shirt was soaked through with sweat. “You two go on downstairs, I’ll be right there.” 

He tossed his soiled shirt to the floor when Lisa asked, “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t know. I tend to forget when I wake up. Probably something horrible. Probably something fucked up.” He slipped on another shirt and limped to the door. All he remembered was that he was running. He was running through the same halls of looping off white paint and chipped tile floors. In all honestly, even if he did remember what he had dreamed about, he wouldn’t share it with Lisa. She didn’t need to know what hell he faced. He couldn’t do that to her.

“You’re not there anymore,” she said softly. “You’re here, with us.”

“I know,” Waylon said and gave her a weak smile. “I know, I came back.”

“We’re all glad you did.” Lisa stood up and started to pull the blankets and sheets off of their bed.

“Lisa, it’s the middle of the night, what are you pulling the bedding off for?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not a big fan of sleeping in your sweat. I’ll change this out while you’re down with the boys.” 

“Sorry,” Waylon said, embarrassed. 

“It’s alright, I can’t exactly tell you to stop having bad dreams. But can I suggest that you try to snap out of it quicker?” Waylon frowned. “Your screaming really scared them.”

“I…” He ran a hand through his hair. “Shit, I’m so sorry. You know I would never frighten them on purpose.” 

“Of course not. I know that.” When she looked back at Waylon he just looked miserable. “Don’t worry about it. This will pass, like everything, this will pass.” 

He wanted to believe that, more than anything Waylon Park wanted to believe it would pass and that he’d be better. It didn’t pass. The nightmares continued to plague him every night. On a good night he’d wake up grasping the sheets and sucking in air like he was drowning. Every day he noticed the dark circles around his eyes grow bigger and more vivid. Sleep was reserved for short bursts in the middle of the afternoon. He could only steal a few hours on the couch while the sun was brightly shining in through a window. 

Darkness, even through closed eyelids, proved terrifying. He took to sleeping with the bedside light on, and then eventually he moved downstairs to sleep on the couch where he could leave the TV on, or pace the room restlessly without waking anyone up. Waylon put on a brave face for his family, but he knew Lisa could see through it.

“Waylon,” she started one night, after dinner and the boys had been sent to sleep. “Waylon come upstairs tonight. You don’t have to isolate yourself.”

“I’ll just wake you up,” he replied.

“I already don’t sleep well when you’re not there.” When he hesitated in agreeing she added, “It’s not like I’m asking a lot. I want my husband next to me in bed.” 

“I know. I know, but…shit Lisa I’ll just wake up from a nightmare and we both know you don’t need to lose anymore sleep.” 

She placed her hands over his and said, “If you have a nightmare at least you won’t be alone. I want to help you; I want to be there for you.” When he wouldn’t look in her her eyes she asked, “What are you so afraid of Waylon?” 

He was scared of a lot of things. Rejection, guilt, being looked at with fear, or pity, he was scared of all of those, but said none of them. “Losing you,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to know what happened to me.”

She was confused and wanted to push him for more, but she didn’t. Lisa knew there was something he was hiding. Something more happened at Mount Massive. The riot story wasn’t the only thing. “Waylon, just so you know…I know that you’re not telling me the whole truth.”

“I know. You’re not stupid, god Lisa don’t think I thought you stupid. I just…it’s easier if you don’t know the full story.” The full story being that after days of torture and Engine Therapy he was released only to be hunted and stalked like an animal. Telling her everything would mean revealing the terror he felt at being chased by a man with a hand saw. If he told her everything that happened, he’d have to talk about the gymnasium that doubled as a meat locker. Waylon would have to relive the encounter with Gluskin. He’d have to share his fear, his panic, and his shame. That was something he just wasn’t ready to do. 

“I want to understand, Waylon I need to understand. It wasn’t just a riot. You didn’t just sneak by some guards while the patients broke out. You came back half dead. The stab wound in your gut I can buy, but you couldn’t have expected me to believe that much blood all over you and your leg were caused by some confusion on campus.” She reached up to gently cup his face. “You’re in pain and I can’t help you. Let me in, please.”

“I…” Waylon took her hand in his, he was trembling slightly. “I can’t. Not now, not now.” He saw the sadness that clouded his wife’s face for a second. “How about this? I promise you that I will tell you… When I’m ready. I’m just not ready, not yet.” 

Lisa knew that this was as good as she was going to get for now. She nodded. “Alright, when you’re ready. I won’t force anything out of you.” 

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “It means the world to me that you’re willing to do this at my own pace.”

“You take all the time you need. I’ll be here for you.” 

Waylon followed her up the stairs to their bedroom. For the first time in a week he slept in his own bed. The amount of comfort he felt lying next to another person couldn’t be overshadowed by the panic his dreams brought. He still woke up, gasping for breath, but he was able to go back to sleep. Waylon could do this, he knew he could.

\---

“How’s the job search going?”

Waylon sighed. “It’s going,” he replied. “I can’t and don’t put Murkoff down on my resume, yet somehow the companies I apply to all find out about it.” He put his computer down and balled up one of his hands in frustration. “They get into contact with Murkoff, Murkoff tells them there’s been a mistake, that I’m a patient of theirs, not an employee and I never hear back.” 

Lisa sat down next to him on the couch and unclenched his hand. Waylon continued, “The only halfway promising offer I’ve gotten wont’ even pay for groceries this month, but I have to take it.” He leaned back into the couch and rubbed his eyes. “It’s a server maintenance job for an online shop. They need someone to reorganize their data and optimize the communication between server spaces. I can do it all in an hour or so with the right programs, and I can do it from home. I’ll accept the offer tomorrow, and get paid when it’s completed. You still have access to my accounts right?” She nodded. “Ok, good. I’ll text you when it’s there and you can do a store run after work.”

“Or,” Lisa suggested. “You could do the store run.”

“I…” He thought about it. “I…could. I guess. The Jeep still has gas in it and I’m feeling a bit better, so yeah. I could go shopping. Should I make the list, or do you want to?”

She smiled and got to her feet. “Nah, I think I’ll leave that to you. You can make it while I start dinner.”

“Right,” Waylon followed her into the kitchen. The pain in his leg had only grown over the days. Desperately he tried to make it not noticeable. But he could only hide his expressions so well. 

“You ok Way?”

“Yeah,” he smiled, forced. “Just stiff.” He knew she didn’t buy it. After Mount Massive he only had the most basic medical care, it’s all they could afford. His wounds were cleaned and stitched. Luckily the stab wound didn’t hit any organs and he was cleared from the hospital in a few days. He took antibiotics to keep any lingering infection at bay, but he was sure his leg was messed up. He sank into the chair and tore out a piece of notebook paper. Quickly he started scribbling down the basics, milk, eggs, bread, meat, cheese, potatoes, noodles. “Hey, do we have toilet paper?” 

“I don’t know, you’ll have to check the cabinet.” 

He got to his trembling legs again and hobbled down the hall, once out of sight he leaned heavily on the wall, thankful for its support. After checking the cabinets and linen closet he added toilet paper, fabric softener and cleanser to the list. Then he limped back. “Add some fruit to the list,” Lisa said after she opened the fridge. “Doesn’t matter what, whatever looks freshest.”

“Got it.” He looked up from the list to ask if Lisa wanted anything special.

“Sweetie the thought is nice, but we should focus on what we need, and save up to get you another doctor’s visit.” 

“Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine.” 

Lisa put down the spoon she was using to stir the soup for dinner and took a seat next to Waylon at the table. “You’re not fine, your nightmares are getting worse, you can hardly sleep, your leg isn’t healing and I’m worried for you. You need help Way, therapy maybe, medication, I don’t know. Something.”

“Therapy…mental or physical?” Waylon asked. 

“Both, maybe. I don’t know Waylon, you still haven’t told me anything. I don’t know if you’ve developed or are developing bad things…”

“Developing bad things? Like?”

“I don’t know, poor coping mechanisms, or PTSD or something. Waylon I’m not a doctor, I’m your wife. I’m just worried. I don’t want you to suffer. If you won’t talk to me, maybe you’ll talk to someone else?” 

“Maybe,” Waylon said, but his heart wasn’t into the answer. “If anything, I might like a second opinion on my leg.” He pulled up his pant leg and felt around the wrappings, his skin was warm to the touch and red. “They said in time it’d heal, but I’m worried it’s healing wrong.”

“I’ve notice you limping around the house,” she said.

“Yeah,” Waylon said and pulled his pant leg back down. “I knew you’d notice, it’s not exactly easy to hide.” 

“Will you at least tell me how it happened?”

He was silent before nodding. “Yeah, I can. I was…I was being chased, and while I was running I jumped into an elevator shaft, the ladder broke and I fell through the roof of the elevator. That’s where I got hurt. A chunk of the elevator roof went through my leg.” 

“You’re pretty brave Way,” Lisa said. She stood up and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I remember when you got a splinter once,” she chuckled and continued, “you made me pull it out.” 

Waylon smiled. “Ah, yes, I remember that. I was helping you build a bookcase.” He rose to his feet as well and followed her into the kitchen. “You only laughed for five minutes when I made you pull it out.” 

Lisa went back to the soup and Waylon threw his arms around her. “You really are braver than you give yourself credit for,” she said.

“I know, but all that strength comes from you and the boys.” He rested his head against hers. “It’s amazing what you can do when you’re determined.” 

\---

Lisa had been patient with Waylon since he came home half dead and terrified of his shadow. She never believed Murkoff’s line of bullshit about her husband having an undiagnosed mental illness. The smooth talker in a suit wasn’t going to convince her that her husband would just leave his family behind without saying goodbye. But she had no way to prove it. 

Student loans had stripped both of them of any real money. She had the gift of weighty scholarships on her side, but Waylon wasn’t so lucky. When they graduated and got married they had very little. But they were happy. A small apartment in southern Washington state, decent jobs, and the promise of a happy future. Then they had Lee. He wasn’t exactly planned, but the prospect of starting a family was welcome and exciting to them both. Shortly after that Alex arrived. They couldn’t be happier. 

For a while they were the picture perfect family. Waylon moved jobs and with the move came a pay raise. They were finally carving out a life for themselves. But, life proved to be unpredictable and they couldn’t foresee a string of events that nearly left them homeless. A fire in their apartment complex followed by Waylon’s job being cut during a companywide layoff session left them living in a spare bedroom at Waylon’s parents’ house. But they were determined to see it through.

They had almost nothing when the job offer from Murkoff came along. It seemed like a blessing, too good to be true. The offer arrived just in time to pay off debts and if the company was pleased with his temporary performance there was a chance he could be hired on full time. Full time employment meant a full time salary and health benefits. Murkoff was a company well worth moving across the country for. Waylon was very excited. The networking connections he could make by taking even the temporary position could lead to big things for their future.

The drive to Leadville was one Lisa would never forget. Miles of countryside passed by as they sang loudly to songs and took pictures at every wayside rest. The boys seemed to love the open spaces and change of pace that the move to Colorado would bring. Lisa was left awestruck of the majesty of the wilderness. She remembered fondly the long night they spent on the final day of travel. Waylon was pretty sure his veins must have been about eighty percent coffee. Together they listened to whacky radio stations predicting the apocalypse and government conspiracies. Long after the boys had drifted asleep they talked about what this move would do for their future. 

The last of their savings went into the down payment of the small house on Mt. Homestake Drive. Leadville was a place that oozed small town America. An old mining town that refused to die when the money moved westward. There wasn’t much, a hospital, the schools, a bar and a few churches. But it had character and an atmosphere that was wildly different from California or Washington. They had discussed it before the move and decided that Leadville would be a temporary home. A place to catch their breath and get back on top of things. The money from Murkoff would build them a stable foundation and the connections Waylon made through the company would allow them to branch out and move to other locations. Even though it was temporary, Lisa couldn’t help getting excited at their new surroundings. 

She knew something was up when Waylon returned home from his first day of orientation. It was then he explained that due to the unpredictable nature of the machines he’d be working with he had to remain on campus at all times. Against both their better judgements he packed a few bags and left later that night. It would only be for a few weeks. He’d be back in a few weeks, that’s what he said. So when a man in a nice suit knocked on their door only fourteen days later with news that Waylon wouldn’t be coming home, well, she didn’t believe a word of it. Something had happened and Murkoff was hiding it. Threats to sue did nothing, threats to call the police resulted in much the same, nothing. She was fighting to hold it together.

That’s when he came back. He arrived on their doorstep early one morning, dressed in a soiled jumpsuit, coated in blood, and shaking. His eyes, Lisa will never forget his eyes. They were so full of fear that they almost appeared blank. Lisa was acting on autopilot. After discovering that some of the blood was her husbands she wrapped him a blanket and loaded him into the backseat of her car. There she told him to wait, which he did. He just seemed numb to everything, silent. She woke the boys and sent them across the street to a neighbor, hastily explaining that there was a family emergency that the children couldn’t be present for. Then she rushed back to drive Waylon to the hospital.

He remained silent for two days before he told her that there was a riot in the hospital and he just barely escaped. But that was it, that was all he said. A riot. He told her that he fought to get out and that his only thoughts were to be with his family again. 

Lisa Park was a patient women. She had to be. Waylon wasn’t the same after he came back from the hospital. He had horrible dreams and was scared of nearly everything. She had no idea what would trigger the panic attacks or how to help him. He went through something more than a riot, and she needed to know what it was. But she always thought he’d tell her. Someday he’d tell her and they could work together to make it right. After all, he came back to them.

But patience only goes so far, and after finding Waylon, shivering and wide eyed, locked in the bathroom after work she knew she had to do something. She couldn’t keep unscrewing the door hinges to break him out of his episodes. So she did something she never wanted to do. Lisa Park went back on her word.

\---

Waylon had taken a walk. It was hard for him to work up the courage to leave the house, but the evening air was cool and calm and he felt restless inside their home. Personally, he thought he was making strides with his confidence. He had already conquered grocery shopping twice and neither times had he experienced a panic episode. That wasn’t to say they didn’t happen, they did, and he was still worried about how much of himself he managed to bring back from Mount Massive.

The buzzing had returned.

It seemed to come and go. Back at Mount Massive it wormed its way into his brain and refused to leave. Sometimes it felt like it was vibrating his very bones. But tonight was a good night. He had taken a very slow loop around the block. His leg felt stronger and his mind clearer. Waylon wasn’t sure how long he had been gone, but the stars had begun to shine through the sky as it changed from baby blue to navy. When the few scattered street lights came on he turned and hobbled back. 

Lisa’s car was in the driveway. This wasn’t much of a surprise. She was often home before dark. The Jeep was still parked in the garage, hidden from view. They didn’t know what to do about the car. Lisa suggested they abandon it somewhere, but Waylon didn’t have the heart. It felt wrong to get rid of the vehicle; it was the only thing left that proved that someone else from the outside had a chance to witness what he had. 

He opened the front door and called out for Lisa. She told him she was in the living room. He was about to apologize for not having dinner started but froze mid-sentence when he entered the room. Something was wrong. Lisa was sitting alone on the couch. “I’m so sorry baby, but I had to know.” 

Next to her sitting on the couch was the leather bound notebook he had been using to organize his thoughts. Scattered around it were the familiar notes he had scrawled on scraps of paper in blue ink during his escape of the asylum. “You…you went through my journal?”

“I did.”

His legs suddenly felt weak and used the wall for support. “I didn’t…you shouldn’t have read that.”

“I know, and I’m sorry.” Lisa stood and went to her husband. Gently she led him to the couch and sat him down. “I didn’t read everything, just a few things.” He looked into her eyes and saw his own betrayal reflected back. She flinched. “You talk to this book, but you don’t talk to me…” She trailed off knowing that what she did wasn’t right. “We made a promise to each other, to always tell each other what we were feeling.”

“And that’s enough to justify going through my personal thoughts?”

“Of course not!” She lowered her head. “Of course not. I’m sorry Way…”

“How much do you know?” He asked leaning back and letting the couch consume him. 

“You…they did horrible things to you. I don’t understand half the stuff you’ve been writing about. An Engine? Poisonous thoughts, buzzing in your head, static vision, flashing images of Rorschach tests… they experimented on you didn’t they?” Waylon nodded. “Oh god…”

“I didn’t want to worry you, I was sure the effects would wear off.” 

“But they haven’t?”

Waylon shrugged helplessly. “Not in the way I was hoping. What else? You read my notes too.”

“The ones on scrap paper?” Waylon nodded. “You wrote these while escaping right?” Another nod confirmed. “It’s hard to tell the order that these go but…you saw things Waylon. You saw horrible awful things that made you contemplate suicide twice.” 

“Almost did. I almost just gave up the fight. After seeing what I saw…shit anyone would just give up.” 

“But you didn’t.”

“I didn’t.” 

“Because of us?”

“Because of you.” 

Lisa smiled for a moment before it was replaced with a frown. “Can you…show me?” Waylon’s eyes locked onto his computer. “I read what you wrote, and I know you have video footage. Would you… would you let me watch it?”

He sat up and his hands hovered his computer, hesitating, he wasn’t sure if he’d come to regret this moment or not. Finally he gave in and placed the computer on his lap. “I’ll show you, but you have to promise me that we’ll do this my way. If I want to skip something, we skip it, no questions asked.” Waylon had reviewed the recordings before. He knew exactly what was contained within them. He thought that if he watched the events unfold it would add some clarity and peace to his mind. That maybe if he watched it like a movie he could pretend it was really all over. 

“Of course, I won’t push anymore. I already overstepped my boundaries.” 

“You did what you felt was right, I can’t blame you for that.” The computer booted up and the cursor sat on the file for a minute before he clicked on it. The camera he had stolen contained footage from his various Engine Therapy sessions. Apparently they kept the same memory cards for each patient. As soon as the file loaded they were both staring at the restrained figure of Waylon. “They were working on something called ‘Project Walrider’. From what I could gather it’s a collection of nanite particles that act like a parasite.” The people in the video strapped Waylon down tighter into the chair. “In order for the machines to live they have to be contained inside a host. Humans are only capable of hosting the thing if they have unstable minds.” The camera wasn’t pointed at the screen, which was good because he wasn’t letting Lisa take one glance at the Engine. “To corrupt the minds and make them unstable enough for the machines to take hold Mukoff used something called ‘The Morphogenic Engine’. It’s hard to describe without seeing it, but it’s like a nightmare machine.” Waylon felt Lisa grab his hand when the recording of him started screaming. “This is Engine Therapy; they condition your mind to the Engine, starting in small doses and record your progress. I don’t know how long I was put through it. Days, hours, it all blurred together.”

This type of scene lasted for a while. Waylon skipped ahead to the day of the riot. He watched himself stumble to the floor and take the camera. “The riot started around this time. I was in an area with mostly doctors and patients that should have been restrained. But someone broke free and found the door locks. Patients that should have contained or sedated were now free to go and do as they pleased.” 

Lisa watched in horror as her husband ran and dodged knives and fists. She thought for a moment she saw a dark figure fly by the camera, but it must have been a trick of the light. They were barely ten minutes into the footage and she had already seen more dead bodies than she had her entire life. Much like Waylon’s notes, the only corpses she had seen were peacefully resting in caskets. This was something entirely new, and it didn’t stop there.

It seemed like everywhere Waylon went he was surrounded by death. There were chase scene so intense that if Waylon hadn’t been right next her she would have doubted he’d make it. For many moments he lay in wait under beds or inside of storage lockers. The only sound the camera picked up was his muffled breathing. Organs were everywhere. Lisa had to hold back vomit on several occasions. There was one part where he was thrown into a crematorium oven. “So that’s why you flinch when the oven heat hits you…”

Eventually the scene changed and Waylon approached a tall tower. She gasped in shock as he missed a jump and crashed through the roof of another building. This is where Waylon paused the recording. “The…the next part is something I don’t want you to see.”

“What could be worse than people using human heads as basketballs or watching a brain explode out of a skull in the microwave?” 

Waylon shuddered. “Just, trust me on this one. You don’t want to see what’s next.” He skipped by everything that had to do with the Groom, whom he later learned was named Eddie Gluskin. They guy was a pretty well-known serial killer a few years back. He floated from mental institution to mental institution after his capture and conviction. The things he did to the men of Mount Massive were things he never wanted someone he loved to see. Nobody should have to see that. 

He resumed the video when he was walking through the last portion of the Vocational Block and getting ready to enter the Male Ward. “I…I don’t know who the hell started the chapel on fire, but it was burning pretty strongly by the time I reached the front of campus.” The camera focused on this scene for a while before Waylon seemed to snap out of it and move towards the Administration Block. “I knew, I knew that if I just kept running I’d be fine. I was almost out, I was almost home. I just had to make it out those doors, that’s what I kept telling myself.” 

Lisa once again witnessed her husband come seconds away from death before being saved. Only this time it was by something that seemed entirely fictional. “What…what just happened to that man Waylon?”

“That was Blaire, Jeremey Blaire, you might remember him, the uh, asshole in a suit. He was torn apart by the Walrider.”

“The Walrider? You mean that project succeeded?”

“It must have, or else it wouldn’t have been able to have a solid form. To be honest, they didn’t let me near the important knowledge, everything I know came from overhearing scientists down in the labs.” Waylon sighed. “So that’s that. Mostly everything that happened to me, minus a few bits. I just got in the Jeep after that and sped away.”

“The person left his keys in the ignition?” 

“Yeah, lucky for me.” 

Lisa’s eyes caught a shadowy figure stumbling and limping out of the asylum’s front doors. “What’s that?” 

“I don’t know…the host probably. Don’t worry, it shouldn’t be a threat. I don’t think they can live long off of the life-support. Like a few hours max or something like that.” Even now he wasn’t sure if the extremely strong wind that blasted the Jeep was effort to help him or hurt him. By now he’ll never know. He thought his wife’s eyes would be filled with horror or shock, but when he looked at her they were burning with anger. “Lisa?” 

“We need to show someone this.”

“No.” Waylon’s answer was instant. 

“What? But we…you can’t let them get away with this! The whole reason you sent that email and got hurt in the first place was to have someone expose them!”

“And look what it got me!” He gestured at his computer screen. “I blew the whistle and almost died. Then after I crawled out of hell the only thing I wanted to do was get as far away from Murkoff as possible.”

“But Waylon-“

“No. That’s the end of it. These people aren’t to be fucked with.” Waylon gripped the fabric of his jeans tightly. “I made it back to you, and the boys. Don’t…don’t ask me to risk that again.” His voice broke. “I can’t.” 

Waylon knew that turning over the footage was the right thing to do. He knew it, he was a good man, he knew that too. But he was also selfish and scared. He was human. The only thing that kept him going was the chance of seeing his family again. Deep down he knew that he would never get the chance if he reveals what he found. And after what happened with Upshur, he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone else to suffer either. Quietly he said. “Project Walrider is as good as dead anyway. They can’t do this again; they’ll just move on and do something else. There’s no point.”

“No point? Waylon you could get justice for those who died.”

He laughed at that. “Justice? Oh because justice is going to do a lot of good for the dead rotting corpses up on that mountain. I’m sure they’ll appreciate my sacrifice and tell me so.” 

“Way…”

“The best thing for us, for our family, is to let this go. It was horrible and I just want to put it behind me.”

She rested a hand on his shoulder and asked, “Are you sure you’re the only one who made it out?”

“No. Honestly I’m not. I’m probably not even close to being the only one who escaped. I’m sure Murkoff Tactical had a field day trying to round up escaped inmates and I know the leeches in the Administrative Block made it out. The labs…probably no one made it out from the deeper chambers. But I’m sure during the first hour of evacuation many got out.”

“So maybe you don’t have to be the one to tell. Perhaps someone else will say something?”

“Maybe,” he said. But he doubted it. Murkoff kept a strangle hold on their employees. That’s when it hit him. He might have escaped Murkoff, but Murkoff hadn’t started looking yet. “We should move,” he added. 

“Why? I thought you liked it here…”

Waylon leaned back and rested his head on the back of the couch. “After the confusion and chaos dies down, they’ll want to know how many of their staff members are alive out there. I was only a temp worker, but I’m on file.”

“But you were listed as a prisoner. How would they be able to tell your body from the hundreds of possible ones up there?” 

“The hospital,” Waylon said simply. “We used my name at the hospital. It won’t take long for them to realize I got out alive.” 

Lisa was quiet before asking, “You think they’ll come for you?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to imagine those pseudo soldiers breaking down their door and taking her husband from her again. “We don’t have enough money to move.”

Those words seem to hang in the air and chill the room several degrees. Like a cold winter wind whipping down from the mountains. It was the unavoidable future that Waylon couldn’t ignore any longer. No matter how much he wanted to stay hidden, stay out of it, he knew Murkoff would eventually come for him. 

“You need to release footage Waylon,” Lisa said. “If not for the dead, then for the living.” 

He stared at his computer long and hard. _Hurt them before they can hurt me again._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, to celebrate the trailer of Outlast 2 I decided to get down to work and finish an update for this story.  
> It's another Waylon and Lisa chapter, only this time focusing more Lisa than before.  
> Originally I had planned to update this on the one year anniversary of when I started this story. But this is just as cool of an event. I can't believe I've been working on this for a year now, and it's not even near being completed.  
> Thank you all so much for reading and sticking with the story. It means so much to me.
> 
> For those of you who haven't seen the trailer, I'll link it below.  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YhiP5FBcCXc
> 
> I'm totally up for any discussion of either this fic, the trailer, or just Outlast in general.


	10. To Deserve to Live

> “A lot of companies have a lot to say about owning life. A lot of people seem to throw in their own thoughts about life and how to monetize it, or dictate it. From debates on abortion rights to arguments over companies holding the sole rights to seedlings. Where do we draw the line? When do we decide enough is enough? That a seed is just a seed and corporations shouldn’t have their hands in nature? It’s controversial to talk about, and I find that stupid on many different levels. But then again, I’ve never been one to side with companies, and I sure as hell don’t back away from controversy. Companies like Murkoff already own most of the things you interact with on a daily basis. Don’t let them own the concept of life too.” –From Upshur Without a Paddle: The Personal Blog of Miles Upshur.

_“We knew We would find you here, Host.”_

Miles cracked an eye open to find R hovering beside him. “Yeah, I’m not that hard to track down.” He was lying on the long horizontal support beam that ran through the new church. The height was something that didn’t bother him, he and liked that he could come and go with only mildly disturbing to the activities below.

_“Why do you keep coming back?”_

“The music is nice.” Miles said turning his gaze to the ceiling. He could see the blue sky between the cracks in the boards. “What’s it to you?” 

R took a seat on the beam next to Miles’ head. He hesitated before saying, _“We think you’ve been spending too much time here, and not enough on your research. If we have any hopes of leaving you must finish with that.”_

“What I do with my free time is none of your business.”

_“Host We wish to leave here! We have been trapped on this mountain for years and before that We were confined to underground laboratories. You can leave, we should leave.”_

Miles became aware of the sudden silence that had fallen below them. He groaned and slipped off the beam falling a few feet before rising in the air. “Let’s take this conversation outside R, it’s clear we’re a disturbance now.” Once outside he shot straight up in the air. He felt like if he just flew up really high he could escape all of his problems. 

But R was quick to follow and catch up with him. _“Host you have gotten quite good with flying. Have you been practicing?”_

“Actually, I have,” he said. “It’s the only thing I really like about this situation.” In the air he felt free; he didn’t feel like a monster. Granted, he didn’t feel exactly human either, but he was able to forget his connection to the Walrider for a moment. He wished Mount Massive was a more picturesque mountain. The summit and area around the summit were barren and uninteresting with the forest starting mid mountain. The asylum was positioned on the mountain’s middle ground, it wasn’t especially high up nor was it close to the base. He didn’t dare do a fly over of the local town of Leadville. He wasn’t that brave. Up on the mountain there were hardly any people who could look up and see him, he didn’t want to risk it by flying over the small town. 

_“We are glad you found something to enjoy. It would be unfortunate if you liked nothing.”_

“Considering I’m stuck with you until I die, yeah I’m glad there’s at least one thing I like as well.” Miles sighed and took a deep breath before asking the unavoidable question, “You really do think we’re getting out of this place, don’t you?”

 _“Yes, We can only hope that our leave is swift enough to save you.”_ The Walrider flew closer to Miles and observed him thoughtfully. _“The past few days you’ve been doing better. There have been less slips and you’ve been far more stable. This is encouraging news; however We would like to suggest that you not take this news as encouraging. You should still be focused on leaving here forever.”_

“What if I don’t want to leave here forever?” Miles was lying; of course he wanted to get out of this place. The asylum wasn’t his home and it sure as hell wasn’t very exciting. They did the same stuff day after day and the dead on campus had begun to decompose rapidly. Soon the whole place would smell like rot. Partly Miles was hesitating because he did still have work to finish, he hadn’t quite lined up all the pieces and he hadn’t figured out what the ultimate goal of Project Walrider had been. But he also dragged his feet out of fear. He didn’t want to leave the mountain and get caught right away, either by Murkoff Security or by some other organization. David said he controlled himself well, but that could always change.

R of course caught his bluff and didn’t even bother with an answer. _“We think you are becoming comfortable with this life and you are afraid of leaving it for something you do not know.”_

“Get out of my head.”

 _“We were not in your head. This was simply an observation. You are afraid of the outside world just like you are afraid of Us, and that fear holds you back.”_ R swirled around Miles before reforming on the other side. _“You worry about what the humans will think of you if they see what you have become.”_

“Can you blame me? Jesus R have you seen what I look like? Humans don’t tend to take too well to things that don’t look like them.” Miles stuck out his arm, black and with visible nanite particles forming around it. “They’d shoot me on sight, just like those guards did back on day one.” 

_“Then We would heal you,”_ R said calmly. _“We can repair much of your body. You should not fear that outcome.”_

“Ok, but can I fear the chance that they could just easily sedate me and shove me into a different underground research facility?” Miles rolled over so his eyes faced the sky. “I like being free R, don’t get me wrong. But if I slip in public, and someone sees and they are believed…we could have a nationwide hunt for me. If Murkoff finds me we’re fucked, if someone else finds me…we’re still fucked but maybe less so.” 

_”We are confident in Our abilities to protect you.”_

“Well I’m not.” Miles sighed, “You’re right I’m scared, ok? Really, really, scared.”

_“You need to be not scared then.”_

“You’re not good at this whole reassuring thing, are you?”

 _“Our apologies.”_ R tried one more time to get Miles to think about making actual progress in leaving. _“We need you to consider leaving here. The stability you talk about becomes threatened the more you are here, the longer you’re exposed to the remnants of the Engine.”_

“Wait, so you think the Engine is still affecting people? That it can affect me?” 

_“Yes. We can feel it. We are sure you can feel it as well, you are just choosing to ignore it.”_

Miles flipped back over and dove down towards the courtyard. He landed far more gracefully than their first flight and started walking for the Administration Block. “I didn’t know the Engine was still on, I thought I shut it down.” 

_“You shut down the life support pod for Billy; you did not do anything to the Engine. It’s down there still.”_

He shuddered and opened the doors to his territory and flew to the second floor. “Right, well, fuck, I do not want to end up like those guys. I want my sanity, at least, what’s left of it.” The library was Miles’ first stop. He opened one of the doors and started digging through the stacks.

 _“We assure you that are you still quite sane Host.”_ R walked around the library and looked at book titles, he stopped every once in a while to open one and flip through the pages. _“Though sometimes you do give Us a bit of a fright. You are still you; you might take comfort in that.”_

Miles did take comfort in knowing that. His skin was still coated in nanites though he tried to will them away. He succeeded in making the darkness recede to just his hands. They twisted around his arm, but didn’t go past his elbow; they just swirled around like flames. For a few moments he just watched them move.Miles also took note that holding them like that so was much easier than trying to clear his whole arm. He hardly had to think about them this way. He rolled up a pant leg and attempted to do the same with the nanites there. That seemed to be trickier but he decided to put in some more time practicing later. Miles grabbed a few texts on nano machines and called for R to follow him back up. 

Surprisingly R didn’t respond right away. Miles found this strange, since only days ago they got into an argument about orders. “Hey, R you ok? I thought you’d be more responsive after our fight.” When Miles turned the corner of another shelving unit he found R flipping through the pages of a book. “You can read?”

_“Yes Host, We can. Like We have said before, We are quite old, and many of our years were spent around scientists and in laboratories. It would have been disadvantageous of Us to make use of that and learn from the humans. In those years We learned to read and write, though the scientists didn’t notice. They weren’t very bright sometimes.”_

Miles thought back to the incident in Wernicke’s office. “Can you read German?”

 _“Yes, We can.”_

“I see…You said you could access my mind and memories, does the reverse work as well?”

_“Why do you ask? We have never been aware of a host gaining entrance to Our memories.”_

“A few days ago, when I was down in the labs…I was reading though some old documents from the late forties and discovered only after I had read several that they were all in German. R, I can’t read German, I’ve never been fluent in anything other than English. I was partially fluent in Spanish back in high school, but that was years ago.” There was a troubling feel to the static that emanated from the Walrider. “R, I was reading in another language as naturally as if it were my native one.” 

_“This is…”_ R trailed off. _“You are full of surprises.”_ Then he fell silent. He picked up the few books that interested him and headed back up to their room. He wasn’t mad at Miles for getting access to that information, in fact, he was pretty sure Miles wasn’t doing it on purpose. But he didn’t want the human to dig any deeper than buried languages. There weren’t the lightest of events in there. Sure, most of the early memories R had of his first hosts were long gone, deleted to make room for more important memories, but he was certain there were things that he shouldn’t stumble upon.

Once back in their room Miles started pouring over the texts and jotting down notes. There was so much he needed to learn about nano machine technology and the Engine. He was certain he couldn’t learn everything and didn’t even try. But anything was better than the half booze washed information he had before he arrived at Mount Massive.

There was a knock on the door, a quiet knock, not like David’s. Though, David didn’t knock much anymore, he just walked in. “Who’s there?” Miles called from the couch where he was reading.

“Father Morgan, dear Host.” 

_Father Morgan? What could he want?_ “Come in,” Miles called. He placed a sheet of notebook paper in-between the pages he was reading and looked up at the man who walked in. “What can I do for you? It’s not very typical for us to get visitors.” 

“I know, and I apologize for the intrusion. There is just something I would like to ask you about, to clarify, if you will.” 

“Yeah?” Miles said sitting up and putting the book aside. 

“Earlier today, during the morning service I couldn’t help but overhear you and the Walrider speaking.”

Miles quickly apologized, “I am so sorry about any disruptions we caused.” He jabbed a finger at R on the other chair. “He’s not the best at human interactions yet, I’m very sorry.” 

“No, no, do not apologize. Anything the Walrider has to say to you could never be a disturbance to us. However, did I hear you correctly, are you planning to leave us?”

“Uh,” Miles looked away. “Someday, yeah. I mean we can’t stay here forever…” As much as Miles wanted to hide away forever he was beginning to see the truth of their situation. “We’ll have to leave, I have to tell the world about Murkoff and all the fucked up things they did here.” 

“I see…” Father Morgan’s expression was sad for a moment before he nodded. “It is to be expected. Of course we could not expect our Lord the Walrider to stay here forever. That would be much too demanding. Go where you believe you are needed and do what you feel is correct.” He stood up.

“Was that all you wanted?” 

“Yes, I’m afraid it was. As much as I would love to stay speak with you, there are other duties I must attend to.” He turned to leave, before he went through the door he stopped to say, “Could I make one request of you?”

“Perhaps.”

“Could you hold back on leaving us for just two more weeks?”

Miles thought about that. The days were starting blur together and he had to think about what day it actually was. He arrived at Mount Massive the night of September seventeenth. He guessed that it had been at least a week and a half since he first arrived, so two more weeks would put him around mid-October, or at worst late October. Nearly one whole month at Mount Massive. He glanced at R who had looked up from his own book. “R, how bad would it be if we stayed that long?”

 _“We don’t like it, but you could do it. If We start to see an overwhelming negative affect on your mind or body We will suggest leaving sooner.”_ R wasn’t fond of the idea, but he figured having a move out goal was better than nothing. At least now his host was thinking about leaving and not entertaining the idea of rotting forever inside these walls. 

“Yeah, we could hang around for two more weeks, provided our food supply holds out,” Miles said. He wasn’t sure what the Father had in mind, but if they needed them to stay for some ceremony or something, Miles would be happy to. It wasn’t every day you got a chance to be a god. 

“Thank you, Host, Walrider. This will make a lot of people very happy.” With those last words he disappeared down the hall. 

“What do you think that was all about?” Miles asked R. “Do you know of any weird ceremonies that would be in mid-October?”

_“We did not concern ourselves with the actions of outside humans. Most of Our time was spent hovering next to Our hosts in the labs. The few times We were able to go further than that We did not consider focusing on other humans. They were unimportant.”_

“Well, that’s going to have to change,” Miles said and leaned back. “When we’re out in the real world you’ll have to get used to understanding other humans, not just me.”

 _“We are already learning that. The human world seems far more complex than We could have expected. There is much to learn.”_ R opened one of his books and went back to reading.

“Hey, what are you reading? I’m curious.” 

He lifted the book up so Miles could see the cover. It was a book on the animal kingdom. Miles got up and shifted the other books next to the Walrider so he could read those covers too. One was for identifying mountainous plants; there was another on human anatomy and the last one a chemistry book. Miles was impressed; he didn’t know the Walrider had an interest in reading. _“We didn’t before,”_ R said. _“Sorry,”_ He quickly apologized. _“That last thought of yours was particularly loud; We had no choice but to hear it. We have always had a desire to learn, but mostly it was focused on learning about the human mind, or our host. Now we can go after much more. Your fondness of reading and researching might be influencing Us. We cannot say. But it is a strong possibility.”_

Miles thought about that. “So, without trying I’m causing you to behave differently? Or think differently?” 

_“Yes. That is the conclusion We’ve come to. We’ve always taken a piece of our host into ourselves, but with you We find the effects are far more dramatic.”_ He looked into Miles’ eyes, dark empty holes gazing into grey tangible ones. _“You talk about Us affecting you, and changing how you think. But you are doing the same to Us. The only difference is that We are used to being constantly molded and having Our sense of “self” changed. We never had a “self” to begin with.”_

“I…I see, interesting.” He hadn’t thought about it that way before. For the past few days he’d been too caught up in his own mental patterns shifting, his own sense of right or wrong being warped. He hadn’t even thought about what he could be doing to the Walrider. Mostly Miles assumed that his changes would only be good, but then, that’s exactly how R felt about the changes he was initiating in Miles. “Maybe we should both take a step back from influencing each other?”

_“No, it happens automatically. It’s a good thing, it forces us closer to being one.”_

“Being one…that’s your goal, right? That’s what you said in the labs…”

R nodded. _“Correct. We always want to become one with our host. So there is no Us, just you.”_

“But…wouldn’t you miss being you?”

_“No. We should not even have developed this much separation, this much…personality, as you would call it. In the eyes of the scientists We are probably a failure.”_

“I don’t think so. I think it will make us stronger, better.” Miles was going to say something else, but he was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot. “What the hell?” 

_“Intruders.”_ R said quickly. _“We are so sorry Host, We are unsure how We didn’t sense them.”_

He heard the gun go off again, short bursts of many rounds. “Where?” Miles felt his anger rise.

_“Downstairs, second room from the courtyard exit, left side.”_

“Let’s go,” Miles said and sprinted for the door. It was like a switch had been flipped in his brain. He no longer cared about mercy; this had become a territorial dispute. There were invaders and he wasn’t going to let them get away with anything. He vaulted the railing again, the nanites caught him just as he hit the ground. Without pausing he stormed into the room. 

First he caught the sight of a Variant up against a wall, bullet holes littered his chest, then he saw a second one cowering in the corner, his hands over his head. The sound of Miles bursting in caused three men in heavy black body armor to turn around. Miles spotted their guns just a half a second too slow. Luckily R reacted without delay and formed a protective nanite shield around Miles, shielding him from the barrage of bullets. When the firing stopped Miles stepped forward. 

One of the men shouted, “What the fuck is that thing?”

“That’s got to be the experiment! Somebody radio down to the white coats!”

Another man fumbled with a radio while Miles watched with cold eyes. 

The radio flared to life but there was too much static interference for it to be any use. “Shit, shit, shit!” He looked at Miles, confusion was written on his face and fear dripped from his words. “You…you’re supposed to be dead. They said Project Walrider was dead!” 

“Surprise, surprise,” Miles said. His voice was a low rumble of static and growling. He looked at the fallen Variant on the ground. He gestured at the body and said, “That was not your prey to kill. I’m the only one who hunts here.” After he said that they shot again. R repeated the same shield and Miles was once again unharmed. By this point the one with the radio dashed out of the room, Miles let him go. Hunting him later would be more entertaining. The two remaining men backed up, but they were trapped. Miles was standing in front of their only exit. The room they had picked to start with had thick iron bars over the windows, one of the few that had any. 

Before the man could raise his weapon again Miles fell upon him. _“Host! The armor is too thick to pierce with claw or fang.”_

But Miles had already spotted his target. The soft flesh of the neck was left unexposed and his sharp teeth cut easily into him. The man let out a gurgling cry as he choked on his own blood. Briefly Miles lost himself again in the feeling of eating raw flesh. The copper taste of blood washing down his throat was akin to comfort food, like a warm cup of coffee before a writing session, like chili before the big football game. Miles gnawed deeper. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered that there was another man besides the one he was eating.

He was watching the gruesome display, frozen place. Clearly he was too used to being on top, he’d never found himself in the position of being prey. But Miles had. He’d spent far too many moments trapped, hiding in a locker, barely holding onto to the control of his bowls. He’d known what it was like to whimper and cower in front of a force he didn’t understand and had no hope of beating. He knew all this, yet he felt no pity when he dropped the soldier and turned his attention to the other. 

The man seemed to snap to attention and scream before pushing past and running for the door. “R, go have fun.” 

R nodded and asked, _“And the other one?”_

“I’ll get him.” 

He looked down at the corpse and hesitated before moving for the door. The euphoria was over and he had regained himself. “Miles?” A voice called out from a different corner of the room. 

Only one person called him Miles in this place. “David? David, shit are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” But Miles was already next to him, checking him for bullet wounds and injury. “Is this a raid? Are we being raided?”

“I don’t know, they just showed up without warning. We heard the gunshots from upstairs. I think they’re from Murkoff Tactical.” Miles frowned as he heard the Walrider’s voice in his head. “R just said he felt more intruders in the labs.” His attention turned towards the door, there hadn’t been any other movement or activity from the hall. “I need you to get safe. We don’t know if there’s more on the way.”

“Can’t I stay with you? You seem like the safest bet right now.” 

“No, I’m going directly to where they are, I have to stop them. I’m going to let them slaughter innocents.” Just then the sound of a man screaming echoed throughout the Administration Block. “Looks like R found his toy.”

“Ok, I’ll keep my head low, and you…” He looked at Miles who was wiping blood off his face. “You be careful too.” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I will. You probably don’t have to worry about me. Just get somewhere safe, and tell anyone you meet to do the same.” 

Miles charged up the stairs and followed the fear scent of the other soldier. It was way too easy to find him. He had wedged himself in-between two bookcases in an old office. Miles figured the man must have hoped his dark clothes would hide him in the shadows. They did not. Miles could almost see perfectly in the dark thanks to R’s modifications of his body. He walked right over to the man who started to whimper as soon as Miles stopped in front of him. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’re going to answer them ok?” The man nodded rapidly. “First off, did Murkoff send you?” More nodding. “Great. What for?”

“We-We were supposed to just clean this place out. S-Shoot the surviving Variants and get out. That’s all, I swear.” Miles grabbed the barrel of the gun and bent it. “We were told you’d be dead. That Hope couldn’t survive without the life-support.” 

_Hope?_ “You tried to radio to someone, who?” 

“The second team. All scientists, they should be in the basement labs. Intel said everyone was dead down there.” 

And everything was dead down there besides those scientists, which would be dead shortly Miles decided. “How many of you are here? Are there more on the way?”

“Just the two groups, I swear. We weren’t given backup, this place was supposed to be dead.”

“Did you successfully contact anyone outside?”

The man shook his head. “N-No, I couldn’t get through, too much static interference.” Miles knew exactly what was causing that. Murkoff may have put a cell jammer on the grounds somewhere, but the static he heard from that radio was caused by the Engine and by the Walrider. No word was getting out unless they wanted it to. And Miles really didn’t want it to. “Listen, please, let me live.” 

_Great,_ Miles rolled his eyes. _Now the begging starts._

“I…I have a wife, and kids! You can’t just murder me like you did my partner.” 

“I can’t? Funny… you all seem very quick to pull the trigger on the Variants.”

“They aren’t people,” the man said. “They’re just… monsters, experiments. Listen, I can tell you’re still human in there, you have compassion, let me live.” 

Miles narrowed his eyes. That was the wrong thing to say. He lifted the man up into the air by his throat, briefly he thought of how Chris would do this exact same thing, only Miles wasn’t going to rip off his head. “The Variants are human you asshole. They’re people and arguably they’re more human than you or me. They aren’t monsters, they’re men who have been hurt and you don’t get to decide if they live or die.” He applied pressure to the man’s throat. “If you can’t see the value of broken lives than maybe you don’t deserve to live your own.”

“You are a monster,” the man gasped.

He chuckled. “Probably. I’m most likely the real deal. You said you had a family?” The man nodded. “Well so did my friend David, so did Waylon Park, Patrick Petryna, Daniel Evans and probably a hell of a lot more. It’s funny how people are only entitled to their families if someone else sees them fit. And I’m not really seeing you as all that fit…”

“No, please!” He started to squirm under Miles’ hold. But it was much too late; Miles had already crushed his windpipe. He let the man drop to the floor, gasping for breath. Letting the man die a slower death was probably not the most humane thing to do, but Miles didn’t care. This was a person who had no problems ending the lives of others because he was told to do so. He left the room and disappeared down into the elevator shaft. It was time to pay some scientists a visit.

Miles couldn’t tell where R was, but he had to be close by. He didn’t think his parasite would stray too far when the asylum could potentially become overrun with soldiers. But then again, Miles did recall how much R hated the laboratories. Maybe he really would be on his own down here? The scientists were a bit harder to find, when he did come up on them he had to duck behind a set of blue barrels to avoid being spotted. His footsteps were quiet enough, but he had yet to master the perfect silent stalk.

He trailed them through the hall, taking advantage of the darkness and using the nanite particles to hide further. By gently levitating he removed the sound of his feet upon the polished floor. 

There were four scientists in total; the one in the lead had a gun drawn, as did the one in the back. Three men, one woman. Which was curious, Miles had read that women shouldn’t be near the Engine due to the harmful effects it can cause in their reproductive organs. But maybe those effects don’t take hold unless directly exposed to the Engine, or around it for a long enough time. He didn’t really have the time to think about it, perhaps Wernicke had a book or two in his office that would help to explain it, or at the very least, a paper. 

“God this place reeks,” one of them said, the lead man. His voice was rough and deep.

“I’ve had to hold back on throwing up,” another one said.

“I read the reports,” the woman said. “The number of surviving scientist teams was very small. Only ten made it out alive.”

“Is that counting the Zeichner team?”

“No, we weren’t told how many are there, or if anyone from Mount Massive would be joining them. I know most of us are being shipped off to the secondary site.” 

“Let’s just hope it’s got a better security system than this…” 

_Zeichner? Secondary site? What the fuck are they talking about?_ Miles continued to tail them until the stopped by Wernicke’s office. This hallway was much too bright for Miles to stay hidden, so he stuck back to a room a few doors down and watched. 

“Looks like something already broke in here.” 

One of the men shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, they want Wernicke’s notes and computer. Besides, even if something got in here, it probably wouldn’t know what to do.” 

“Jesus,” he heard the woman say. “Whatever it was ripped the damn door off.” 

Miles let them enter and look around a bit before he moved from his spot. He wanted to trap them, and it looked like they did a fine job by themselves. 

“The old man wants some things from his office.” 

“Well he can come down here and get it himself.”

“Don’t be that way Mike, the guy’s like a million years old. Cut him some slack.”

“Some slack? Because of him we’re down here shuffling around organs. If he had just listened and stopped Engine work none of this would have happened.”

“Oh yeah, because sperm based protein synthesis was definitely the way to go.” 

He scoffed and started packing up documents. “It would have been a hell of a lot better than making mad men madder.” 

“Hey,” the woman spoke up, “does it seem like someone’s already been through these files?”

“What do you mean Karen?” 

“Well, look,” she opened a drawer and pointed. “The files for the Project Walrider termination experiments are gone, as well as information about the hosts from 1948 through 2012.” 

“Think someone was reviewing them before the riot?” 

“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would someone be reviewing these files? It’s been common knowledge for years and these particular sets of data are transcribed in the data base. Hell, the originals are mostly in German, at least the older ones are. Someone has been down here…recently.” 

Suddenly all four of them heard a sound, like rolling wheels. Someone sitting in a chair came gliding into view. It was a man, young, with dark hair that didn’t make his skin look any less pale. He slid the chair through spilled entrails and stopped a few feet inside the office. His expression seemed bored as his arms sat draped over the back. His chin rested on the headrest. Lazily he spun the chair around in circles. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” 

“This is private Murkoff Property, how did you get down here?”

“Answer or we’ll shoot.” 

Miles laughed. “Mmmmm who am I? Good question.” He continued to spin the chair. “There’s one person who knows me as Miles,” he said with his back to them. “But most,” he turned so that his words were timed with the reveal of his face. Black and silver eyes staring out of nanite corrupted sockets. “Most call me the Walrider.” 

Instantly one of the men shot. The bullet caught Miles by surprise and ripped through his shoulder. “Really?” Miles said. He felt the bullet tear through his flesh and exit on the other side of his body to burry itself in the wall. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find unsoiled clothes here? This was practically a brand new shirt!” Already, he could feel his body recovering, the flesh started to mend and blood slowed to a trickle. “You guys really need to learn how to hold your fire.” 

“You can’t be Project Walrider, Project Walrider is dead.”

“Odd…” Miles said and lifted his hand up in the air to examine it. He touched his face and ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t feel dead. I mean, I did once, like weeks ago. Do I look dead?” He waited for an answer that never came. “For a bunch of scientists you sure don’t know a lot about your own project. What does Project Walrider do every time its host dies?”

The scientists stared at him blankly.

“Come on, one of you has to have an idea.” He sounded like a professor back in college, talking at his students, hoping one of them would break the silence and use a brain cell or two. “Karen,” he said suddenly, making her jump. “You look like your head is screwed on tight. What happens when Project Walrider’s host dies?”

“When a host dies a new suitable host is found as quickly as possible to prevent the death of the Nanite swarm.” 

“Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner! I knew you could do it.” Miles spun the chair again. “So with that information can you piece together what happened, or do I have to spell it out?” 

One of the men spoke up. “You’re telling me that you’re a new host?” 

“Yup.” 

“But that’s impossible…who did you work under? The Engine rooms were evacuated first; there shouldn’t have been anyone down here but Wernicke. You can’t be a new host.” 

“Oh man, and here I thought we were making progress.” Miles smirked. “Do I look like I belong here? Ignore the nanites swarming on my arm; they ruin my illusion of humanity. But do I honestly look like a white lab coat wearing pursuer of science? And if I was, do you think I’d stay here any longer than I had to? And would I sit here and berate you? Shouldn’t one of you at least recognize my face if I worked here? I mean, I’m assuming you all worked down here.” He laughed, “Come on, use some investigating skills, make some observations, come up with a few theories.” 

They studied him for a bit longer, one of the men with a gun seemed like he was willing to shoot again. Finally Mike said, “You’re outsider then. Someone who snuck in…you had to have done so after the riot started since security would have caught you had you tried to get down here.”

“Unless,” one of the scientists interjected. “Unless Hope was killed and the swarm was near him, then it could have possessed his body without being near the labs.”

“Yeah but he’d have to have seen the Engine first! You can’t just waltz in and become the host, if that were the case then any one of us could have been targets.” 

“That still leaves the problem of how he got down here in the first place. The elevators all need a key to reach this level and security would have stopped a civilian from entering.” 

Miles just sat in the chair and listened to them talk. It was the most amusing thing he’d heard in days. “There are more than just the elevators that lead to the labs. How do you think we got down here?”

“Of course, but those entrances are pretty well hidden. There’s no way he could have stumbled down here, glanced at the Engine, suffered enough physical trauma and horror to become suitable for the Walrider all during a riot. It’s impossible. He has to be a former employee, maybe someone with a level two security clearance, or even three. Someone who knew where these labs were and how to get to them during confusion.” 

“So you think there could have been three rogue employees in the past few months? That seems a bit improbably considering the tight hiring restrictions Murkoff has. First Trager, then Park, now this guy? Not to mention Annapurna before that, and Petryna.”

“We all know Trager wasn’t a traitor. Those executives have no idea what the Walrider and hosts are capable of. He was set up and we all knew it. And Park was a damn whistleblower; the kid obviously couldn’t handle it down here.” Miles raised an eyebrow at this portion of the conversation. “We still don’t know if this guy even worked for Murkoff.”

“Maybe he’s a spy?”

“Or,” Karen said, “maybe we should just ask him?”

All their eyes went back to Miles who was grinning with a mouth full of shark teeth. “Well, it seems you guys can brainstorm after all. You mentioned a Whistleblower? When did this guy get caught?” 

“Early September, why?”

“Interesting…” Miles had received his anonymous email around the start of September as well. “So, you know Mr. Park called out for help, but you don’t know if his messages got anyone. But now you have a stranger sitting in front of you who just so happens to have stumbled across this place around the time of that email. Interesting correlation, don’t you think?” 

“Are you suggesting that you’re the person Park tried to contact?”

“I very well might be.” 

“If that’s true, then how did you end up down here? These labs aren’t easy to find.”

Miles spun in the chair again. “It’s a long and boring story, certainly not one I want to be the last you’ll ever hear. But let’s just say I was led here by someone who thought they could help me, save me.” 

“And you just so happened to have all the right qualities to be able to host Project Walrider? I don’t believe you.”

“Believe me or not, you can’t deny what’s right in front of you. I’m clearly not human, as you shot me in the shoulder and I hardly flinched. I clearly have control of the swarm; you can see the particles swirling around the wound on my arm. So naturally you must assume I’m telling the truth.” 

“If you are the host,” Mike said, “then come you haven’t left? Why are you still here? You could be halfway across America right now, why wait for recapture?” 

He laughed. “Recapture? I’m not waiting here for you. I have my reasons for why I’m still here. Reasons I’m not going to tell you. But one thing is for sure, I won’t be going with you anywhere.”

The two men with guns held them up again. “We think you will be coming with us.” 

More short laughs escaped Miles. “You have got to be joking. You think two tiny pistols and a handful of scientists could capture me when a full armored assault team with high powered guns couldn’t stop me?” 

“Don’t make us shoot, we’ll shoot.” 

“And I’ll just repair the damages.”

“Not if we hit your head.”

That, was an excellent point, but one that Miles immediately dismissed. “You won’t kill me. Killing me means losing what’s left of Project Walrider.”

“We already thought Project Walrider was gone.”

“Good point, but you came back for something. Imagine that shit you’d get into if you returned with the news that not only did Project Walrider survive the riot, but was then shot dead by your team. I know if I were your supervisor I wouldn’t be so happy.”

“This conversation is over. It doesn’t matter who you are, how you got down here, or what you did to become the Host. You’re coming with us, and that’s final.”

“No. No I’m not coming with you.” There was a high pitched bang that echoed through the room. A bullet whizzed by Miles’ head. It missed by a considerable distance and buried itself into the wall. “You shouldn’t have done that…” 

Quicker than any of the humans could comprehend Miles had gotten up from his chair and used the swarm to pin two of the scientists to the wall. Then it was simply a matter of splitting them open using the swarm, expand it inside their bodies. Two down two to go. The remaining living humans were conveniently Karen and Mike, the two Miles had names for. “Now,” Miles said stepping forward. “I’d like you both to know that the tactical team upstairs has been taken out. There is no backup coming to save you and your lives are entirely at my mercy. It should also be known that I’m not in a real charitable mood today so the chances are very high that you’re going to die.” 

The two moved further and further away until their backs pressed up against the far wall of the office. Dr. Wernicke’s desk separated them from Miles. “Listen, Project Walrider, we won’t try and capture you, it’s ok. We’ll leave you be just…” 

“Oh yeah, you’ll leave me be alright. You’ll leave me until you can call in for reinforcements. Until you can tell Murkoff that their little pet project is alive and well. I think not.” Miles stepped around the desk and sat down on smooth wood surface. “Here’s how this is going to work. I’m going to ask you a few questions, then you’re going to answer them, and finally I will kill you.” Miles looked sadly at the two scientists that were now nothing but splatters against the wall and organ meat on the floor. “I don’t like killing; in fact, I wish I could stop but…” He shrugged. “We can’t always get what we want.” 

“How is this even possible? Hosts aren’t supposed to be stable outside the life support chambers, you should be dead.” 

“I guess I just got lucky. Ok, first question, what was the true purpose of Project Walrider?”

Mike spoke up. He seemed to have accepted his fate and didn’t push for freedom. “Project Walrider started off a hyper intelligent AI. Wernicke was doing work with nanoparticles and the human mind. Mostly how the brain sends and receives commands and how the commands could be manipulated and turned into a weapon. At its core, Project Walrider is an advanced bioweapon that can be remotely controlled by brainwaves. It was supposed to keep our troops safe by doing all the fighting while the hosts were kept shielded in a remote location.” 

“But,” Karen said, “we could never get it past the infection stage. After it merged with a human brain the body always seemed to die. The strain of hosting the particles was too much. We used life support, and that helped, but we couldn’t get the type of precise control that we were looking for.” 

Mike added, “Since we’re fucked anyways, there’s no harm in shit talking Murkoff while I’m at it.” Miles gave an approving nod. “To be frank, Murkoff was only interested in the marketing of this technology. They didn’t care the human costs that went into development, they just wanted the product. They put a heavy amount of stress on success and punished the teams harshly for failure. They wanted to ship this out by the end of the year.” 

“What they didn’t understand was that we weren’t producing a product. We were working with a…a…I’d almost call it a living thing. There isn’t more than one Project Walrider, it’s been the same one from the start. The same one that Wernicke created back in Germany at the end of World War Two. Murkoff thought we were making weapons. We weren’t, we were making one weapon.” 

“And we couldn’t even get the damn thing to shoot.” 

Karen smirked. “I don’t know, I think this one just showed us he can. Its apparent Hope could too. We were close Mike. Just not close enough.” 

Miles cleared his throat. “So Project Walrider was a weapon, makes sense. I was thinking the same thing. There’s no way something like this was being developed as an exoskeleton or disability aid. A weapon seemed like the only logical answer. Next question, what is your team doing back? The tactical team said they were here to clean out and destroy everything, what’s your story?” 

“We were asked to finalize the report that Hope was dead, and conclude that Project Walrider was a failure. Upon completing that task we were to sort through the files and take with us everything of importance. Then destroy the evidence. Simple as that.” 

Mike said, “It’s very clear that Project Walrider managed to survive. How? We haven’t got a clue, you shouldn’t be possible, yet here you are.”

“We won’t be reporting that though, will we?” Karen asked. She too had accepted her fate.

“Nope. You two are a lot calmer about this than the others. Have you been waiting for death or something?”

“No,” Karen said. “We were just prepared for this to happen. The whole time we’ve been working on Project Walrider we knew that if we succeeded the thing we would create could be perceived as a god. It would be far more powerful than us, and it’s human nature to bow to something of that caliber. We just never thought we’d be successful.”

“But we were prepared, if it happened, we were prepared.”

Miles asked, “Why did you keep working? If you knew you could die so easily, why keep at it?”

“Because we could. No, because we had to.” Karen gave a small shrug. “I don’t know if you can understand how we felt, but when you get as close as we were to something as big as Project Walrider well…you can’t stop. It’s like an addiction.”

“I guess I understand the idea,” Miles said. “Several times during my night at Mount Massive I thought to myself, “Just turn around, just get out, drop from the window and run,” but I didn’t. I had to get the full story, I had to discover what was happening here and I had to get the better of Murkoff.” 

“Are you happy with your choice?”

“Are you?” Miles shot back.

They both looked at Miles with keen eyes. He was the fruit of their labor, and they could tell he was clearly able to direct the swarm. He seemed to be able to survive without life support and besides being a bit pale and thin, seemed perfectly healthy. “Well,” Mike said finally. “I think I am. We created a perfect proof of concept. A sentient host of Project Walrider.” 

“Yeah, I’m ok too. It’s always a relief to know your work was completed before you die.” 

Miles asked, “Did you ever get any results that were close to me?”

They shook their heads. “No,” Karen replied. “Billy was the closest we’d had for years. Since Robert at least. We were hoping that maybe he’d still be down here, that the reports were wrong and his life support hadn’t been cut.”

“Then what would you do?”

“Start over, I guess. If we still had him stable we could rebuild, get more subjects, move one with the next phase.” 

“And the next phase?”

“Is something we can’t tell you,” Mike said. The sternness of his voice was a surprise to Miles. He would have thought someone so close to death would be more frightened. 

“What can you tell me?”

“That you’re lucky to be alive, the Walrider should have killed you. And when word gets out that you survived… Well, you’ll be hunted to the ends of the Earth. Murkoff will not stop chasing you until you are in their custody. You aren’t you anymore, you’re theirs. Inside your body is billions of dollars’ worth of nano technology and the most complex AI we could dream up into reality. They’ll want that back.” 

Miles swallowed. The prospect of being tracked like game didn’t sit well with him, especially when a part of him still insisted he was at the top of the world’s food web. “You’re wrong though,” Miles said. “You didn’t create an AI, you made something organic with a mind of it’s own.” 

“Impossible. The Walrider project was nothing more than machines set to function with the electrical impulses of the brain. There is no intelligence that isn’t manufactured.” 

“Hmmm, I think he’d be quite insulted at that. Why don’t we call him down?”

“Him? What are you talking about?” Karen asked.

“The Walrider? What, did you think we were one? I thought you knew this project better than anybody. The Walrider is a parasite and I’m its host. We’re two different, distinct entities.” 

Mike cleared his throat. “I don’t believe you,” he said calmly.

“Fine, I’ll show you.” Miles didn’t know exactly how to call R to him, but he had a decent idea. He knew how it felt for the Walrider to send messages to him, so he tried to mimic it. Going into the parts of his brain where R resided he sent whatever he could. Flashes of his location, a command to come, anything that could get him there. He made sure to include as much peace and nonviolence as he could in his command. What he didn’t need was the Walrider showing up in a whirlwind of destruction.

Like a trained pet R came to Miles’ side without hesitation. _“Host what is going on down here? You know We do not like it in the labs.”_ He glanced at the human scientists that were gawking at him with wide eyes. _“Who are these humans? Are you having problems disposing of them?”_

“No, no, R I’m fine. I’ll deal with them in a moment, but they didn’t believe we were separate entities. They thought of you only as a puppet.”

R narrowed his eye to slits and stalked forward. _“That is the problem with humans. They create so much that they do not understand. And then, even though they have no proof of what they say, they spread their thoughts like it’s the truth.”_ He circled them, observing how they trembled. _“We remember these two, the female not as much as the male, but We remember. They worked with Billy. They worked with Us but never knew it.”_

“Well, now they know.”

_“I suppose they do.”_

“Are…are you speaking with it?” 

Miles smirked, “I am. And he’s not too fond of you. Says you create things without understanding exactly what it is you created.” 

“How? How are you understanding it? It shouldn’t have vocal chords; it shouldn’t have such a solid, physical body. It’s not speaking, how are you communicating?” 

“R speaks through the static. I can understand him mostly because I’m his host. We share the same brain. His voice echoes in my head, like a song you can’t forget.” Miles got up and a hand along R’s arm. “His solid physical form is due to my level of control over the Swarm. I can give him a shape and density that makes him almost appear human.” 

Mike was almost speechless. “You named it? It has gender? You mean to tell us it has had thoughts this whole time? How old is it?” 

“I call him R because Walrider is too impersonal, and yes, we’ve decided that for now he’ll identify as a male, at least until he gains a better sense of self. R has had thoughts this whole time. Since his creation over sixty years ago. Like you said, you weren’t creating a bunch of weapons, just one. It’s been the same one.” 

R took his place beside Miles. He was disgusted by the scientists. Their complete lack of understanding left him without a proper voice for most of his life. Miles started speaking again. “R isn’t a collection of machines. He’s more advanced than that. These nanites have melded with my human cells, creating something that isn’t a machine yet it isn’t organic. R has thoughts and I’m even beginning to believe he has feelings, emotions. You really had no idea about what you have created.” 

“I guess not.” 

“R lives off of my body, and in return I benefit from a few upgrades. He’s made my healing increase, I recovered from over ten high powered rounds to the chest and intestines a few weeks back, he’s increased my strength, and my senses.” Miles listed those as benefits even though he hated the differences. The scientists didn’t need to know that. “He’s more than a weapon, you created a living thing.” 

R wanted to argue about that last part, but now wasn’t the time. Instead he watched as Miles calmly walked up to each scientist and placed his hands over their chests. “I wish we could stay and talk longer, but I’m afraid you’re all out of useful information.” In an instant both scientists’ hearts seized and they died shortly after. Miles hefted both their bodies up over his shoulder and dumped them in a spare room. Before he left he grabbed their ID cards and raided both their wallets. It wasn’t his proudest moment, but the dead don’t need cash. He had a feeling he would need it instead.

When he walked back to Wernicke’s office R was not there. It didn’t take him long to track the nanite creature down. He was standing in the Morphogenic Engine chamber. It seemed like years had passed since he was last there, but it was only a few weeks ago. Miles walked by the computers, most of them were password protected and Miles didn’t have the knowhow to access them. Perhaps he should have kept one of the scientists alive long enough for them to give him the passcodes. It was something he hadn’t foreseen. For now, he’d have to make do with the computer he did manage to crack and the documents in Wernicke’s file cabinets. 

R was standing still, watching the Engine that still flashed across the screen. Miles avoided looking at it, he had enough of Murkoff messing with his mind, he didn’t need to add to it. “Hey,” Miles said and walked over to him. “You ok?” 

_“We should bury him.”_

“What?” 

_“Billy,”_ R said. _“Our old host. We should bury him.”_

“Why?”

_“We…We had grown fond of him, he was a decent host and We think he deserves a proper resting place. Some respect. Humans find that important, do they not?”_

“No, no, you’re right. Laying a person to rest is the ultimate last form of respect one person can give another. I’m just not sure if he deserves it.” 

_“Why do you say that?”_

“Well,” Miles shifted uneasily. “He was responsible for a lot of death, a lot of killings.” 

_“And you are different?”_

He thought about that. As much as he wanted to say he was different, he knew he wasn’t. He just got done killing six people today; he sure as hell wasn’t innocent anymore. Then he thought back to Billy Hope himself, what he read about the kid. He was so young when he was placed in Murkoff’s care. Young and lied to, he was full of rage and despair. The only person he cared about was dead and he never got to say goodbye, instead he got needles and nightmares that persisted even when he was awake. Billy didn’t deserve what had happened to him, he was just a kid. Miles looked up at the lifeless body floating in a sphere filled with liquid dyed red by his own blood. “I guess, I’m not. And I would want to be buried instead of being displayed in a glass ball.” He met the Walrider’s gaze. “Yeah, we can bury him.” 

The next challenge was finding a suitable place to put the boy’s body. Nightly frosts hadn’t become a problem yet, so the ground was still relatively soft, but there weren’t any tools around to dig out a hole. Miles searched around the cargo bay area looking for something useful. “R I’m going to need to fly to a maintenance shed to find a shovel. You can stay here if you’d like.” Miles took off and flew over the top of the cargo bay. Interestingly enough it appeared that that the labs emptied into the side of the property and from Miles’ vantage point could see the Male Ward then the Administration Block. If he had to guess, the underground laboratories started under the Administration Block and traveled underneath the Male Ward. 

The other entrances that the scientists spoke of must have been in the Prison Blocks and hospital areas. It made the most sense since those sections of the asylum looked like they actually held patients. The rest of the place looked abandoned. There could be more dormitory like buildings that Miles hadn’t discovered. He made a mental note to ask David where the majority of the patients were kept that weren’t from the Show Ward. 

He hadn’t gotten the chance to adequately explore the underground portions of the asylum. He knew there was a sewer system with a large underground water reservoir somewhere between the Prison Block and the Male Ward, but he didn’t have any details. The labs themselves hadn’t been explored either. Miles didn’t know what was waiting to be discovered in the other sections. So far he had a rough outline of the Morphogenic Engine code, and Wernicke’s office. There had to be more. 

He spotted the courtyard easily and dropped in front of one of the sheds. He remembered this one from his first night; it was here that he found a key to open a different gate. This time he collected a shovel from against the wall and took back to the sky. 

Miles really did enjoy flying. It had grown on him and was going to be something he would actually miss when he went back to living life as a normal person. “Maybe I can drive to remote mountains and practice every once in a while…at night or something.” He stretched his arms out wide and free fell for a while before he caught himself and landed. “Ok, R I have a shovel. Where do you want to put Billy?” 

R pointed to a spot off the main road. There were natural growing flowers poking up from the harsh mountain soil. It was as good a place as any. Miles started digging the hole until R took over. _“Too slow Host, you must become stronger.”_

“Oh sorry my shovel skills weren’t up to your standards. It’s not like I’ve dug a lot of holes in my life.” 

_“Really? Because you seem to be really good at that, from what We’ve experienced.”_

Miles groaned. “I mean actual, physical holes, not metaphorical ones. If we were talking those, then you’d be right, I’m a pro.” 

When the grave was dug they went back into the main Engine chamber. “So,” Mile started. “How are we going to do this?” He walked around the orb and said, “I can’t exactly carry this glass ball with me, and I imagine that as soon as we open this up I’ll want to vomit. The decomposition in there must be horrendous.”

R shook his head. _“No, the liquid in here has preservative characteristics. Since the host is meant to spend large quantities of time inside it can’t have a negative effect on the living tissue. Billy should be no worse than when he was alive.”_

“If you say so…” Miles still stepped back from the pod when R unlatched the top and dropped his arms into the vat. But no foul smell rose up from it. Just the typical chemical wash he’d become familiar with in the lab. 

It was strange watching R work. He was so gentle when he handled Billy’s body. He took the time to carefully pull out all of the tubes shoved down the poor boy’s throat. He removed the various sensors and embedded IV needles. Miles wasn’t even sure what half of the stuff was that was hooked up to Billy. The pain of hosting the Walrider was already great; he couldn’t imagine having to deal with the rest of the contraptions as well. R lifted the boy from the tank and gently cradled him in his arms. It was actually emotional to watch what he had always assumed to be a monster carry the boy so protectively. 

R followed Miles to the hole and placed Billy’s body in it softly. Neither of them said anything, they just looked down a boy robbed not only of his life, but of his childhood as well. Miles suddenly felt overwhelmed and a bit responsible for what had happened. He hadn’t even considered alternate options; he just pulled the plug, blindly followed orders. Maybe there could have been a different solution. Or maybe he’d be just as dead as Billy. There was no way of knowing.

They took turns covering the boy with soil and when they were done Miles placed a few flowers over the grave. “I’ll…I’ll look into locating any surviving relatives when we’re done with this.” Miles said. “I don’t know if they’ll want to dig up his remains or not, but at least they could give him a more proper grave.”

_“Thank you, Host.”_

“Would…would you do this for me?” Miles asked.

 _“We do not know. Chances are very good that when you die We will die too. There probably are not many suitable human hosts left.”_ R seemed genuinely distressed. _“Before you came along, We did not care much about Our hosts. They were just things, batteries, if you will. But now…We do not know what to think about this.”_ He placed a cold, clawed hand on Miles’ shoulder. _“We would probably try to honor you in much the same way. You seemed shocked by our kindness, We can feel it. But you should know that We are changing.”_

And Miles was willing to believe that now. They both lingered near Billy’s grave for a while, too lost in thought to go anywhere else. Miles sat down beneath a tree and watched R place more flowers on the mound of dirt before leaving and coming back with a few different sized stones that he used to line the grave with. The largest stone was placed at the head of the grave. R then sat down next to it. Miles could feel the confusion and compassion coming from the Walrider in waves. 

It seemed like R was becoming more of a human.

Miles stared at his hands. They were clean and pale but it didn’t take much to see them coated in thick, red blood. He was changing too, his behavior clearly reflected it, he just had to accept it.

Miles was becoming far more monstrous. 

 

> “I can’t stop thinking about what I was told today. That I don’t belong to myself anymore, that Murkoff owns my body. The truth is, they don’t own shit. They might have created Project Walrider, but they do not own R, they do not own me. And I will fight to live, even if that means we both die. So let them chase me across the country, that is, if they can find me first.”-From: Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's NaNoWriMo which means' I've been writing every day, and I can probably get updates out at a much faster pace for this month. If parts of this feel rushed or not...well...good, let me know. Because most of this was written in spurts I can't be 100% sure it fits as nicely as I think it does.  
> So, as always, your input is very appreciated.  
> But hey! We're back to Miles and R! Expect a few more chapters from their point of view before we switch back over to the last Waylon and Lisa chapter for this section.  
> We're nearing the end of "The Aftermath at Mount Massive"! Which, is only part one of three for the Survivors series.  
> I hope you guys stick with me through this, I can't wait to write the rest of the story.


	11. Days Gone By

> “Sometimes I wonder why I keep a personal journal, or blog. It seems childish to me, to keep such a thing when most of my life is spent behind a camera. I already document so much of myself, why do I need to keep a written log too? Even now, in this run down hell hole of an asylum, I’m still writing. It was pretty touch and go those first few days. I was afraid I’d lost myself, and that I wouldn’t be able to find me again. But I think I did. Behind the blood and gore and new instincts and annoying brain roommate, I found Miles Upshur. Turns out, the guy never left, just got a bit pointy. Maybe I write so that I know I’m still me, that I’m still here. After everything, I’m still the same guy. If I didn’t write I don’t know if I could still be me. I’ve been doing this since I could hold a pencil. First it was just wavy lines on paper, imitations of what I saw my mother doing, then it was crude words and chicken scratch, now it’s a different kind of crude vocabulary and my penmanship is still…vastly chicken scratch, but a more sober chicken this time. At least now I can blame my missing digits, can’t I? Writing is me, I am my writing. As long as I’m documenting my life or chasing a story I can call myself Miles Upshur. Even if my inner voice tells me I’m not.” –From: Still Got Eight, the private journal of Miles Upshur.

“Excuse me, Miles, are you busy?”

Miles looked up to see David standing in his doorway. “I don’t know…I’m awfully behind on my research.” He glanced at the half completed game of minesweeper before saying, “But I think I can make some time. What’s up?”

David entered the room and sat down. “I just want someone to talk to, I’m not in a good headspace right now and I’d love a distraction.” 

“I’m good at distractions,” Miles said with a smirk. “What’s got you worked up?”

“You’re my friend, not a therapist, don’t even try it.” David laughed and fell back on the couch. “So Father Morgan asked you to stay another few weeks?”

“Yeah. I found that odd though, what’s so important that he needs a few more weeks of my time?”

There was a pause before David said, “Maybe he’s just not ready to let you go yet? Maybe there’s still some things he’d like to talk with you about? Or he’d like to speak with R? He could just be afraid.”

“Why would he be afraid of us leaving?”

“Well, without you around, who will keep order?”

Miles frowned. “You have to realize that you can’t all stay here. Not forever. The food will run out, eventually Murkoff will shut the power, sewer and water off…You’ll all be dead from exposure or starvation by December, January if you’re really lucky.” 

“We know.” 

“What are you going to do?”

David didn’t answer. Instead he changed the subject. “Did you figure anything else out from the mini raid?”

“Unfortunately no. Only that they were here to wipe everyone out. The tactical group was there to kill the Variants and the scientists in the lower level were down there for a data purge.” 

“You’d think Murkoff would send more than a handful of soldiers. Especially after the critical security failures of before.” 

“Maybe they thought that since Project Walrider was supposed to be dead it would be easier? Like maybe they assumed all the Variants would have murdered each other by now?” 

“Or maybe they were just a scouting mission and they didn’t tell you.”

Miles nodded. “That’s a possibility. One thing’s for sure, they’ll definitely know something’s up now. Seven of their people failed to come home. They’ll either send another small team or one large one to finish us off.” Miles shrugged, “Just one more reason why we should get the hell out of here.”

“But you can protect us.”

“I can’t guarantee it.” 

“You’re the Walrider, of course you can. I watched you kill that soldier like it was nothing. I saw what R can do, you two would have no problem holding your ground.”

“But for how long and to what point?” Miles said. “This place is as good as dead, there’s no reason to fight for it.”

“It’s our home.”

“No, this isn’t a home, it’s a prison.”

“We…we’re trying to make it a home.” 

“David…” Miles didn’t say anything else. There wasn’t anything else to say. Deep down Miles knew that this asylum was not a home; it wasn’t a gift, or a sanctuary. It was a trap, and they would all die in it. But he also understood that for some people, it was all they had. “I know that so many people here think I’m a god, or a guardian deity or something. But I’m not. I’m not. I’m just a reporter and R is just…he’s just a parasite. We can’t stay here and watch everyone die around us. Even if we could protect you from the soldiers and from Murkoff we can’t protect you from starvation.” 

“I understand, and I think the others understand too. Ultimately you can’t save us, but it puts our minds at ease knowing that you’re here. That if something happens someone will stop it.” David took a deep breath and let it escape slowly. “So,” he started, “do you have a battle plan for taking down Murkoff?” 

“Not exactly,” Miles replied. “The basic idea is simple; I’ll do a massive info dump. I run my own news site and personal blog, so I can report directly to that. For being an independent journalist I have quite the following so it shouldn’t be hard for it to go viral. The problem is that I have to make sure I tell the world in the right way. If I don’t have exactly the correct information or video footage Murkoff could just sweep it all under the rug.”

“How so?”

“Well, for starters they own about sixty five percent of the world’s economy.” 

“Isn’t that illegal?”

“Sure, but money is what makes the world go round. Pay off enough people and the laws suddenly don’t matter to you. Gather up sister companies, put different CEO’s in the executive chairs and pretend you’re not related. It’s like the worlds most fucked up incestuous family.” Miles clicked a pen open and closed in one hand while explained. “Basically, Murkoff is powerful, really powerful, and damn scary to try to tackle alone. But I won’t be alone, when I leak the footage it won’t be to a news outlet, it will be directly to the public. I’ll have an army of horrified average Joe’s behind me. I just have to make sure that they believe me and not Murkoff’s smooth talking legal teams.” 

“You think you can do this?” 

“I have to,” Miles said simply. “The stuff in my camera isn’t enough, you can’t just release footage, they’ll make a cover story for it. They’ll say it’s an independent film, they’ll denounce me as a crazy photo journalist with a grudge to settle, which is partially true, I do have a score to even out.” He laughed. “But, if I take my footage and combine it with enough verified government documents, transcripts of the research here, audio logs, anything I can scavenge from the labs, well…it’ll be far harder to dismiss that much evidence. And if that doesn’t work…I’ll…” Miles trailed off. 

“You’ll what?”

“Well, Project Walrider is mighty convincing in person…Though I’d honestly prefer not to go that route. If possible I want the world to believe that Project Walrider died with Billy. I don’t want to be a test subject trapped in some lab, and neither does R. One of the biggest things keeping me here is my fear of being caught.”

After giving it some thought David said, “It sounds like you have a solid plan, then. And for the record, I don’t think you’ll be discovered as the host. You’ve gotten really good at controlling it lately, and I’m not just saying that butter you up, I truly mean it.” 

“Thanks. R thinks we’ll be fine too. I just hope this appetite of mine doesn’t get me into too much trouble. It’s already obnoxious and R thinks that it might get worse the longer we stay connected.”

“I’ve uh, noticed you’ve been eating more. You’re going through your stocks pretty fast.” 

Miles glanced over at the pile of stacked cans and bags of potatoes and rice. “I know. I’m pretty sure I can make it a few more weeks, but beyond that it’s going to get tough. R wants to teach me to hunt, but I don’t like the idea. I keep thinking he means people, but he assures me it will be deer…but.” Miles ran a hand through his hair and scratched his scalp. “I’m worried that if I taste blood like that I’ll just lose myself and hunt things that aren’t deer.” 

“Why don’t you buy a gun or a bow? Nothing says you have to use claw and fang to bring down your kill.”

“I thought about that too, but I don’t want to give away my position in the off season for hunting nor do I want a deal with carrying weapons across state lines. It’s not…illegal, but it’s concerning to some officers. If this thing with Murkoff goes south and I’m put on any sort of watch or wanted list… I don’t want to be found with weapons by the authorities. It’s too easy to go from independent journalist to paranoid, dangerous, activist.” 

“You don’t want to travel with a weapon?” David smirked and laughed. “That’s a bit humorous don’t you think? You are technically the most advanced weapon in the world. You travel with a weapon just by getting in the car.” 

“I know, I know, fucking hilarious.” Miles leaned back. “It’s going to be tricky, being on the outside world. R and I will really have to focus and be on the same page. Something I’m not sure we can do right now.” 

“Why not?”

“We’re just… we don’t have the same mindset. And it’ll only get worse when we leave. R might be over sixty years old, but he’s a child in the amount of knowledge he has of the world.” David could tell that Miles was anxious about this, but he didn’t press him to go on, he just waited. “I’m worried that he’ll get too excited and I’ll break control and people will see him. And I’m really afraid he’ll get fed up with playing our cards carefully and waiting. If he gets too angry at something, it doesn’t matter what, a person, car, human laws… I’m very concerned that his anger will bubble over to me and we might do something stupid.” 

Miles gave a nervous chuckle and said, “I want to make the headlines, just not like that.” 

“Yeah, I understand. Have you told R any of this?” 

“No,” Miles admitted. “Well, some of it, sure, but I’m certain he can feel the rest. My emotions aren’t all that secretive anymore and he can read me like a book most days. I know he can feel my fear and my anxiety, but we both know there’s not much he can do about it.” Miles stood up and stretched. “We can’t be prepared for reactions we can’t even begin to guess. I’ve debated heading down into town a few times. A short… controlled introduction into the world at large, but…” 

“But?” David pressed.

“But I don’t want give R a taste of freedom he can’t have right now.” _Or ever._ But those dark thoughts he kept to himself. “Right now he’s pissed that we haven’t left days ago. If he gets out and about only to be brought back here and cooped up, well…” Miles rubbed his forehead. “If I thought the static induced migraines were bad now, I can’t imagine what they’d be like if he’s trying to be annoying.” 

“You still have work to do?” David asked.

“I still have work to do,” Miles replied. “A whole hell of a lot of work.” 

David sat forward a bit. “Anything I can help with? I used to work here; I could be a valuable asset.” 

Miles thought about that for a few moments. It wasn’t a half bad idea. David would know the easiest ways to get access to the information that he needed. Some stuff he knew he’d still have to dig to get, but there were other things that he was certain that David could assist him with. “You aren’t an asset, you’re a friend.” He didn’t want David to think of himself as a tool, or that Miles was using him to get what he wanted. “Your passwords still work, right?” 

“Well they worked to get into the Secret Ward a few days back. I don’t see why they’d suddenly stop working now.” 

“I see…” Miles gave it some more thought. “You have remarkable work ethic, you’re clearly an educated man and you know your way around a computer. I don’t see how I could refuse your help. What do you have access to?” 

David grinned; he liked feeling useful, it was better than sitting on his ass all day, or hanging around the church. “I have passwords for the patient lists, medication information, my old email, and the ward information. Stuff like guards, other staff, and patient rotation schedules. I can try my passwords downstairs but I doubt they work; Murkoff Psychiatric Systems was built on several different layers of security. As far as I know there are four levels, with one being the lightest and four the heaviest. I was given level two clearances, as I needed access to the pharmacy and several of the wards.” David continued to explain. “Most of the staff that worked in the Administration Block as office staff had a level one, that would get them in the door and not much else. Two was for most of the staff who worked the wards, and most of the security guards. Three’s were given to a few of the techs and the specialized security personal. I wasn’t sure what the levels under me were for when I worked with them, but now I know that level three granted access to the Engine room and elevators to the labs. I’m guessing a three also had more computer freedoms then I did. I don’t know much about four, but I’m guessing everyone who had it was high ranking staff, Blaire probably, that wretch Trager, and most the scientists.” 

“Well, if I had to take a guess I’d say four was for the handling of the data revolving around Project Walrider. Keeping under a lock would keep unwanted eyes from reading sensitive documents. I would also venture a guess that not every high ranking official had access to the data for the experiments. I’m more than willing to bet that a lot of the executives were held at a low level, they aren’t men of science and the data would be lost to them. All they care about are profit margins.” Miles looked at the computer he was seated in front of thoughtfully. “I probably lucked out with this one; I think whoever owned this computer had special privileges among the fat cats.” 

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, I’ve been granted access to a few incredible documents and information stores. Whoever this was… he wasn’t a normal businessman.” 

David shrugged. “Who knows? So…if you have that computer, and I can’t help with the laboratory computers then what good will I actually do?” 

“Not everything in this case is about the hurt and pain. Having reliable proof of the few treatments administered to the patients will help add a lot of credibility to this report. If I share only the horrible it will be a lot harder to swallow. But showing the behind the scenes stuff, the “charitable” organization part, that’s where we’llscore some major points.” 

“Right, well when do you want me to start?”

Miles laughed. “Not today. I’m not all that sure where to go at the moment. Stop in tomorrow and I can give you an outline of the information I need. Shit, you can even start formatting it in a way that makes it easier to transfer to my website if you want.” Miles added, “I’ll still proofread it, but it would be a help to get a start on that sort of thing. I’m actually…sorta dreading writing this report. I was never known for my speedy coverage of topics, I was more of a… get the facts straight before posting kind of guy. I wanted to be absolutely certain that what I was publishing was perfect.” He laughed. “Unfortunately that made me a pain to work with in a company setting and I spent far too many nights hunched over a computer scrambling to meet deadlines.” 

“I can’t imagine how much work this is going to take.” 

“I can, and honestly, that’s far more terrifying than Murkoff goons showing up.”

David asked, “How long do you think this all will take?” 

“Months, probably,” Miles answered. “I’m not looking forward to any of it.” He fell silent for a while before saying. “It’s not just the work, the future hand injuries, and sleepless nights, but R. He’s really looking forward to being on the outside world, he wants to see it all, I can feel it. He’s not going to be happy shadowing me in my shitty apartment while I type away on yet more computers.”

“Just tell him that when you’re done you’ll take a trip across the world.” 

Miles snorted, “Shit, I might have to if this whole thing blows up in my face. If the populace at large doesn’t believe my story, and Murkoff reveals it to be a fake, I might just have to run across the world. The people in charge of Mount Massive, the ones who escaped and know what went on here… they’ll know that what I said is true, and that marks me as a liability.” 

“Not to mention you’re the host, if they find out about that I doubt they’ll stop hunting you.” 

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Miles groaned. “I still can’t get that stupid scientists words out of my head. The idea that I’m property and not a person upsets me greatly.” 

“Not just property,” David said, “a weapon.” 

“Yeah,” he said trailing off. 

“Do you… do you think they’ll try to use you for anything?” 

“I don’t know,” Miles admitted. “I feel like I have too much free will. I doubt I’m really what they wanted to create, despite R telling me I’m perfect. I think they wanted a person like me, but with less agency. A thing that could follow commands and also have just enough sense of self to function in an urban setting. It would have to have to be able to look normal, not animalistic or robotic. Organic is the key, but it can’t go off thinking it’s its own person.” 

“You think so?” 

“What good is an all powerful weapon if it pisses on your shoes before ripping you in half?” Miles stood up and stretched. “Can’t have a dog that bites you, they typically put those down. And with my regenerative abilities… well I don’t want to think about the creative ways they would invent to euthanize me.” 

David stood with him. “Regenerative abilities?” 

“Yeah, check this out.” Miles pulled off his shirt and pointed to several scars that dotted his body. “When I was first possessed by the Walrider I encountered a security team down in the basement. Neither of us knew I was the new host. They pumped several rounds into me before I collapsed. But, the Walrider was able to heal all of those injuries. It was amazing.” 

“How long did that take?” 

Miles thought back to that day. “Hmmm, hard to say, I was passed out for a lot of it. Maybe a day at most, to fill each hole with new flesh.” He pulled his shirt back on and said, “He can also mend my bones, and veins, it’s amazing.”

“So what, you’re basically immortal?” 

He laughed, “I wouldn’t go that far. Come on, let’s take a walk, I need to stretch my legs.” They took the stairs down to the lower levels and instead of taking the hall down to the courtyard entrances they left through the front door. Originally Miles had the door shut and locked to prevent any Variants from escaping out the most obvious exit. But now he left the doors unlocked and open for anyone to come and go. So far he hadn’t noticed anyone taking advantage of it, most likely those who wanted out had gone already. There were plenty of breaks in the outer fencing to exploit. 

David watched as Miles shoved the heavy doors open without any resistance. “So, if you’re not immortal what are you?” 

“I dunno, a monster I guess? Freak? I don’t know if I qualify as human, that’s for sure.” 

“Well, technically speaking, as long as your DNA hasn’t been altered I think you’d still be human.” 

Miles shrugged. “That’s the thing; I don’t know what R has done to me at this point. He’s been changing things… about my body.” Before David could ask what he elaborated, “Like, my senses, you have no idea just how sharp my sense of smell is, or my vision, screw the night vision on my camera, my eyes are better. R was also talking about changing things on me physically. He said something about how my heart wasn’t strong enough, that I needed more lung capacity and that my ribs didn’t allow for the proper expansion. For all I know, genetically I might not be human either.” 

“I don’t like it when you think of yourself that way, why not look at it like this… You could be a superhero or something, like the X-men.”

He laughed and said, “Wasn’t the whole plot of the X-men the fight between humans and mutants? And like, equality or understanding between the two?” 

“Ok, maybe my example was poor; I’m not good with comics, ok?” David continued on, trying to make his point. “What I’m trying to get at, is that… maybe you’re not human, maybe you are, but does it matter? Like, what’s so good about being human?” 

That was an interesting thought, what was so great about being human? It’s not like humans had done all that much good since they rose to power. He didn’t like being a pessimist, but anyone could see that humanity itself wasn’t a shining beacon of excellence. “I dunno. I guess when you’ve been one thing your whole life you’re reluctant to leave it behind. People always talk about how you change as you grow up, become your own person, but I don’t think they ever meant that you should change species.” 

“I guess…” 

“But,” Miles said, “it’s an interesting thought and a point I hadn’t considered up till now. I’ve been holding onto the idea that I’m exactly the same as when I wandered in here… But I think it’s pretty obvious that I’m not. How much I’ve drifted? That’s still up for debate, but I’m not sure it’s worth worrying about right now.” 

The two walked down the winding road, they weren’t planning on actually going anywhere. It was enough to just get away from the stink of the asylum. It wasn’t evening yet, in fact Miles hadn’t checked the time before they left but he was pretty sure it was only a little past noon. Plenty of time to burn. A while back he had checked the map of this area. Mount Massive didn’t have any distinguishing features; it pretty much just had the asylum and a fishery, and that was it. The upper parts of the mountain were barren, while the lower section was a mix between stands of pine and a few deciduous trees that added a splash of color to their surroundings. It was nearing the end of September and many of the trees that had leaves were already yellow and ready to drop. 

“It’s beautiful up here, isn’t it?” David asked.

“Yeah, it really is. I’m more of a city boy myself, having grown up in one, but I can appreciate nature as much as the next guy.” 

“Nothing like a mountain to humble yourself, huh?” 

Miles chuckled. “When I want to be reminded of how small I am, I look to the stars.” 

Before David could say anything in response Miles had halted. “Hey, you ok? See something?” Miles didn’t respond, but his eyes had gone dark and he seemed to be listening to something. “Miles?” 

“Go back to the asylum,” Miles said softly. “Right now, turn around and go. You might see R on your way up, ignore him and he’ll ignore you.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” he said. He seemed more like himself when looked at his friend. “R just sounded an alert inside my brain. I don’t know what for, so please, hurry back, don’t wait up.” 

“Right, I will.” 

Miles watched him scramble up the road before he looked further down his path. “R what’s this about?” 

_“Originally, We were going to contact you for a hunting lesson, but then We felt something. Intruders We think, but too far away to be certain. We should investigate our borders.”_

“Where are they?” 

R pointed a clawed finger through the trees to his left. _“Down the mountain, We don’t think they are on a road.”_

“Right,” Miles said and disappeared into the forest. It was weird, running through the trees and undergrowth. Part of this felt really natural to him; vaulting over logs and leaping gaps carved by small streams felt as fluid as hopping tables and railings back in the asylum. Miles thought that maybe when this was all over he could take up parkour or free running, he certainly had the coordination for it now. 

R echoed his thoughts by saying, _“We are pleased with how well you can move. This is very encouraging.”_

“Yeah?” Miles said between breaths. “I still have no idea where we’re going though, mind taking the lead?” 

_“We can do that.”_ He said. _“Try to keep up.”_ Miles swore that he could feel an air of playful challenge in R’s static. 

The Walrider quickened the pace, floating between the trees and swiftly leaving Miles behind. Not wanting to be outdone Miles did the same. He was aware that the ground they were on was sloping downwards slightly, but that only made it easier to pour on the speed. His legs and arms pumped as he jumped through brush and tried to focus on the glimpses of black fog that swirled ahead of him. More than once his foot would catch on a fallen branch or tangle of roots. He never fell though, each time he was able to roll or catch himself before his face slammed into the dirt.

He knew R would just heal any injuries, but he didn’t like the idea of having a face full of dirt and rock. After a particular bad stumble he noticed that he couldn’t see R anymore. He didn’t slow his pace, instead he went faster. Miles burst from between two pine trees, his arms raised to shield his face from cuts when he saw R waiting beside the trunk out of the corner of his eye. He was about to ask why the creature had stopped but he didn’t get the chance. The next step he took connected with nothing and he quickly realized he had run straight off a small cliff.

“Shit!” Miles swore and braced himself for impact. He collided with the side of the embankment ass first, sliding down the hill. He dug his heels into the ground and tried to slow his decent by dragging a clawed hand through the ground above him. Miles could feel the skin on his hand shred away before he realized that he could reinforce it with nanites. Eventually his claws scraped painfully against a boulder and he was able to grab hold and stop his sliding. 

_“You do remember you can fly, Host?”_ R said floating just above him. 

Miles’ chest was heaving and his eyes were wide. The slope was in no way life threatening, it actually evened out quite a bit a few feet past where he stopped. But he still swallowed hard when he watched the rocks and dirt continue to tumble down in front of him. Slowly he released the rock and examined his hand. It wasn’t exactly pretty, but he was confident the damage to the skin would heal. “You could have warned me R.” 

_“We wanted to see how you would react. You still think like a human sometimes. There were a few ways you could have ended your decent faster. However, We suppose We are just pleased that you didn’t fall all the way down. Or break your neck, that would be a pain for Us to heal.”_

Miles groaned. “Sorry my survival responses aren’t up to your standards. It’s not every day I find myself sliding uncontrollably down a steep embankment.” He ran his non damaged hand through his hair and rubbed some of the dirt out. “Flying is still a thing I forget I can do in panic situations.”

 _“As long as you still remember how, We can work on the rest.”_ He extended a hand out to Miles. _“Come on, lets head back to the top and continue our search. It’s not much further.”_

Miles grasped the hand and pulled himself up. He dusted off his jeans and frowned at the large dirt stain on his backside. “That’s not going to come out,” he grumbled and took to the air following behind R. 

_“We want you to focus on being more silent through this next stretch.”_ R said as they landed. _“You make far too much noise as you move through the trees. Everything within a mile radius can hear you crashing through underbrush. You’ll never be able to catch anything like that.”_

“Right,” Miles replied. “You know it’s not every day one is asked to do parkour in the woods. But I’ll try.”

_“Do more than try, succeed. Come, the intruders are not far.”_

This time Miles was more careful of where he put his feet, however their pace was still too fast for him to do it completely silently. He just knew R was going to have some sharp words for him when they were done. He debated hovering through the tree’s following in R’s path, but he abandoned that idea out of fear. The amount of energy that would sap from his body wasn’t light. If he pushed himself too far he wasn’t sure what he’d do. For a moment he paused his running to study his hand. A while back he had told him that if he started shaking he was getting hungry. Miles tried to steady himself as best as he could. Sure enough there were small tremors he couldn’t suppress that shook his hand. “Right, gotta make this quick.” 

He caught up to R who was waiting for him near some scraggily bushes. _“You did better this time,”_ he said. _“It was a creative idea to create a pocket of nanites below your feet to limit your impact on the ground.”_

“Thanks,” Miles said breathlessly. 

R could tell Miles was about to ask why they had stopped here, so he cut his question off before it had a chance to leave his mouth. _“We want you to smell the air, Host. We want you to take deep breaths and see if you can pick up the scent of the intruders. The scent of Murkoff.”_

Miles shrugged and gave it a shot. He took in air and concentrated. The first thing that hit his senses was a flood of forest smells. Thick pine, animal droppings, the dirt on his back, the far away smell of water and he could even pick up traces of rot from the asylum. “I…” Miles inhaled again. “I don’t know if I can.” 

_“We are almost certain you are able. Think Host. Think about what those scientists smelled like; think about the soldiers you cornered the other day.”_

He did think back to the other day. The first thing he remembered was the wet, coppery scent of blood. That was hard to forget, but it wasn’t the smell he was after and he blocked it out the best he could. On the scientists he remembered antiseptics; they smelled clean, sterile, too perfect to be natural. The soldiers were harder for him to focus on. He didn’t have much time to interact with them. They smelled of fear and piss, but that wasn’t unique to them so he thought harder. As he was thinking something on the wind caught his attention. Gun powder, faint but it was there. He turned around towards the wind and drank in the air. There it was, definitely gun powder and… “R what is that? It’s not something I can describe. It… it _reeks_. Real bad.”

R chuckled through the static and purred, _“That’s Murkoff. We are not sure why they smell like that, but their employees always smell like the garbage they are.”_

Miles nodded. He didn’t know how much he believed that, maybe he just picked up a whiff of decaying animal. He didn’t believe that a person’s moral beliefs or actions could have a physical scent. But, he had been wrong before. 

They trudged on through the forest, moving slowly, and taking breaks to check the air. R already knew their prey’s location, but this was new to Miles. The Walrider treated this outing as a training exercise. Eventually Miles almost walked straight into a small clearing. The trees had been cut away to make room for power lines that ran through the forest. They probably led up to the asylum and any cabins that were built on this little mountain. A clawed hand hooked the collar of Miles’ shirt and pulled him back into the brush. To their left a pair of armed guards emerged and walked towards them. Without thinking Miles scrambled into a tree. His own sharp claws dug into the soft bark and he pulled himself up into the canopy. 

“What was that?” One of the guards said. He was jumpy and anxious, clearly he didn’t want to be here. 

“What was what?” The other replied, this man was more calm and collected, if anything Miles would say he was bored. 

“That sound, like something just leapt into a tree.” 

The other man huffed, “It was probably a squirrel Jerry.” 

“No squirrel sounds that big,” Jerry said back.

_“Use the nanites to mask your presence, Host.”_

“Right,” he whispered and commanded the swarm to swirl around him, obscuring him to darkness. Miles highly doubted the pair would look up into the trees, humans don’t typically look up. It’s a flaw in their design, what could possibly attack them from above? Nothing. 

“You’re just jumpy.” 

“Geeze Darrel you think? First we got those crazy reports about sqads A and B suffering complete casualties, then the recon group doesn’t come back either? Those doctors were dead meat, sure, but our guys? Something isn’t right here.” 

“Well, be glad we didn’t get assigned to the asylum then. Be thankful we’re just on mountain patrol.” 

“And what exactly are we patrolling for?” 

“Hell if I know. Like they tell me anything, squad leader or not. Though,” he said pausing to take a drink from his water bottle, “they say there’s a monster up there. A beast that the scientists cooked up. But according to all of our reports it was unstable and should have died weeks ago.” 

”A beast?” Jerry said, his voice going up in surprise. “Why haven’t they just blown that whole cursed place to pieces yet?” 

“Because it’s just a rumor. They didn’t actually create a monster, can you imagine? That’s some science fiction bullshit. They aren’t going to blow up the building, not yet at least.” 

Miles gripped the branch he was perched on tightly. He didn’t like the sound of this. 

“Do you think they’re still alive up there?” 

“Who knows? But if they are, Murkoff will send in a rescue team. If anything, they are more interested in recovering their precious data before they blow the place to bits. You ever been in there?” 

“The asylum? Oh hell no. You couldn’t pay me enough to guard that place. I’ve heard enough stories from the guys that came back after a rotation. Horrible things being done there, horrible people being kept there. One guy, one guy said that an inmate ripped the head off of another guy in the courtyard. Unprompted and he was sedated and shackled. It took three stun guns and their most powerful tranquilizer to put the guy down.” He looked up the mountain and said, “Whatever they were doing up there, I want no part of it.” 

“Well I do,” Darrel replied. When he saw the shocked expression on his partner’s face he laughed. “Do you know how much they paid the guards with level three security clearance at that place? I’ll give you a good idea, it was enough to set up a pretty decent retirement fund.” 

“Yeah, if you can live that long.”

“Hey, security breaches happen. It’s the dangers we face. When they fully open site two I’m going to be first in line to apply for the opening rotation.” 

“Count me out,” Jerry said, disgust in his voice. “Not only do I not want to know what they’re doing behind those walls, I don’t want to be risking my life for a corporation that couldn’t give a single shit about its employees.” 

“Then why are you still here?”

Jerry spit on the ground. “You know as well as I do that our contracts aren’t up for another three months. I go where they tell me or I’ll never work again, I know that for a fact.” 

Miles was far more interested in the talk of that same secondary site he overheard the scientists speak of. It was a lapse of judgement on his part, that he forgot to ask the scientists what they meant by that. Instead he killed them, silencing the only chance he might have had at learning more. Briefly he thought about jumping down and asking these men. But they didn’t seem to have the kind of insider information that Miles needed. He could feel agreeing with him in his mind. His hand rested on Miles’ shoulder, ready to hold him back if he jumped down. 

“We aren’t going to kill them,” Miles whispered, his voice barely audible.

_“You need to get better at communicating with Us with your mind.”_

“I know,” he hissed under his breath. 

_“We think it is stupid to attack now, while they are alert and paranoid. But why leave them alive? They are dirt, are they not?”_

“Less than,” Miles said. He was trying very hard not to growl. “But we can’t have more of their staff go missing. We need to lie low and not attract any more attention.”He started to climb down the tree but thought better of it. In a rush of nanites he leapt from the branch and propelled himself straight up through the canopy and away from the soldiers. He heard the men below shout and there was a single shot fired blindly into the air before he heard cursing.

“What do you think you’re doing? You can’t just fire into nothing!” Darrel said.

“There was something in that fucking tree!”

“It’s called a bird dumbass, ever heard of them? They roost in branches. Now you have file to a weapons discharge report. Tell ‘em you were scared by a pigeon.” 

Jerry shook his head. “That was no pigeon. I can tell you that much.” 

“Well, what was it then?”

He shivered. “I don’t know, I don’t know.” But he felt deep down that he was lucky to be alive. 

Miles and R made good time back to the asylum. Going by air was far easier than running on the ground. “I’m worried about what those soldiers said,” Miles confessed as they were getting ready to land.

_“Why?”_

“They were talking about Murkoff blowing this place up, that can’t be good.”

R was silent for a few moments before he agreed. _“Yes, We would rather not be here if this place went up in flames.”_

“The only problem is that we don’t know when they’ll move ahead with that plan.”

_“They still need their data, and they still need to confirm Our fate.”_

“True, they can’t light this place up until they get their data back. Murkoff has a lot of money, but there’s no way they’ll let years of funded research go down the drain. They’ll wait until it’s recovered.” 

_“So we should expect to see more soldiers in the future.”_

“Yes,” Miles said and nodded. 

A voice asked from just beyond the gate, “What’s all this talk of blowing stuff up? Did you two get ahold of dynamite while you were out?” 

Miles smiled when he saw David round the corner. “Spying isn’t cool, you know that?” 

He grinned back. “Well you shouldn’t tell that to Miles Upshur, I heard that guy’s whole career is built on spying.” 

“I get proper interviews!” He paused. “Like…seventy percent of the time.” After they both laughed for a bit Miles sobered the mood. “There were guards patrolling the outer edges of the mountain. I think a few of the escaped Variants must have drawn attention back to the facility. Murkoff knows about what happed the other day, with their missing teams. They’ll send more.” 

“We both sorta knew that though, didn’t we?” 

“Yeah, we did. Anyone could see that they would send in more. But I overheard something else that’s very concerning.” They stepped through the heavy doors to the Administration Block. “Murkoff might be detonating this building. It’s the best way to cover up everything that happened.” 

David’s eyes went wide and he paled just a bit, as the blood left his face. “Why would that be the best way?” 

“This is an old building,” Miles said, his gaze traveling towards the Male Ward, and beyond that the crumbling remains of the Vocational Block. Mostly he thought about the Female Ward and it’s collapsing floors and charred out rooms. “You can tell they were slowly renovating the place, the scaffolding along this block is proof enough. When I was running around blind I noticed a lot of construction tools out, saws, drills, that sort of thing. And lumber, lots of lumber. They were making repairs.” 

“What does this have to do with anything?” David asked. “Talking like that makes it seem like they’ll come back and finish what they stared.” 

“No way in hell. The security failed here, catastrophically. They’ll start from scratch. I brought up the renovations because it serves as recorded proof that the building is indeed unstable. They own the property and this building isn’t registered as a national historical landmark, meaning they are free to do whatever with it.” Miles shrugged. “It’s easy to put out an official press statement that says that the ruined foundation couldn’t be saved and the building is no longer safe for human use. That’d give them more than enough right to blow the place up and bulldoze the scrap. It would destroy everything physical.” 

David was quiet, really quiet. His brown eyes glued to the floor. “We didn’t help matters any, did we?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“When we moved the patients from the Secret Ward,” he said. “We told the hospital that we were moving them because of the unstable foundation. We played right into their plan and we didn’t even try.” 

“Fuck, you’re right. I hadn’t thought of that.” His head had started pounding out of nowhere.

“So now they even have record of staff moving patients out of the buildings because of this reason. We signed our own death certificate didn’t we?” 

“If not ours, then at least this buildings’,” He said and grimaced. A wave of nausea and fatigue swept over him. Miles headed for the stares, he was aware that David was close behind him. “Hey, not to freak you out or anything, but could you give me some space for a bit?” The stairs doubled as his vision blurred.

“Why?” David frowned. “You just told me soldiers could be coming back any time now, I don’t really feel like wandering this place alone.” Miles stopped and turned to say something but he was interrupted. “Are you ok? I didn’t notice outside because I was distracted by the talk of bombs, but you don’t look to good.” The other man’s hands were shaking and his eyes were black and silver again. His skin kept bleeding from black to grey to pale, like he couldn’t settle on an appearance. 

“I may have pushed myself too hard back there, I’m very hungry,” he said through clenched teeth. “I need to eat now, or I might go after the first thing that moves.” He gripped the railing to hold himself steady.

“Which would be me?” 

“Which would be you.” 

“You sure you’ll be ok?” 

He nodded. “Yeah, it just comes on fast, the hunger and control issues. I’ll be good in an hour. Normally I’d invite you for dinner, you know that. But right now, I’m more afraid you’d be dinner.” 

“Right… Well, I should go spread the news about the possible influx of soldiers and the bomb threat to the other Gospel of the Sand members. I’ll come back later this evening.” 

“Knock before you do, just in case.” David swiftly disappeared down the stairs and into a hallway. “Fuck, R, this appetite thing has got to get better.” 

_“Perhaps you paid more attention to your body the signs would appear less sudden.”_ R helped Miles up the stairs and into their room. _“We cannot stop your body from demanding food, Host. That will not change; it will probably get worse the longer we stay connected.”_

“And the control stuff? Will I always have to be afraid of going feral? Or is there something we can do to work on that?” 

_“We do not know. If We had to guess, that instinct will be forever a part of you. We know it’s not what you wanted to hear, but We don’t want you to get your hopes up for nothing.”_

R deposited Miles on the couch and tossed him a can of beans. Miles didn’t bother with a can opener, he took one nanite encrusted claw and poked it down on the top and peeled it back. He didn’t even wait for a spoon or fork; he just lifted the can up and poured the contents into his mouth. “Yuck, this shit is never as good cold.” He caught another can that R threw at him and downed that one much the same way. Already a feeling a relief rushed through him. He was still shaking, but his brain seemed to understand that there was more food coming. “How are we doing on stock?” 

R surveyed the pile of cans; he mentally started rationing out daily proportions. _“You have two weeks at the most, Host. Even that is pushing it. We suggest you start hunting for supplement food stocks.”_

Miles licked his lips and dug into his fourth can. By the seventh he slowed down enough to hold a fork and scrap the tins properly. “Ok,” he said finally. “When can we start?” 

_“Tomorrow, if you’d like. There are many deer and small creatures in the forest you can feed upon. We might not have experience with hunting, but We have instinct, strong instinct, and that will be enough.”_

“Do you really think I can catch a deer by hand?” He tried to picture it, his body standing over a corps of a freshly killed deer, the blood around his jaws from where he had the deer’s neck in a choke hold. The vivid detail of the mental picture alone answered his question. Yes, he was very capable of hunting down any creature on this planet and killing it. 

The effects of eating were almost instantaneous. The light headedness went away, so did the slight nausea and headache. His hands lost their tremors and he could think much clearer. He took a seat behind the desk and closed out the Minesweeper game he was playing earlier. He couldn’t put off working any longer, especially if they were going to bomb the place later.

In the back of Miles’ mind he had a backup plan. He would return to the asylum later if his data contained any holes. But now he had to take that option off the list. Perhaps Murkoff wouldn’t blow the place into the heavens, but he couldn’t take that chance. He needed to get everything from this site in his first try. There would probably be no second chances.

Hours drifted by while Miles sifted through documents and printed interesting bits of information. R was lounging on one of the other couches, his mind occupied by the book of human anatomy on his lap. Every once in a while Miles would empty a bag of pilfered chips into his mouth. The Walrider had found a few vending machines which provided Miles with the perfect snack supply. He was eager to get his hands on junk food, it was way better than the canned chili and beans that made up his meals. 

There was a knock at the door and Miles let David in. “You’re looking better,” he commented stepping inside.

“Yeah, I just needed to eat, that’s all.” 

“You’re appearance has stabilized too. I really do like the eyes, they’re cool as hell.” 

Miles shrugged. “I wish I knew how to control it, or even that I was different.” He walked back to the computer and resumed reading. “How’d it go with the Gospel members? They take the news ok?” 

“For the most part,” David said. 

“That’s good. You guys should all think about evacuation plans. If you don’t want to go back to society maybe you could start a little homestead out here? There’s enough land where I think you could get away with it. Shit, you could even return to this site after Murkoff clears out and use the open space. I’m sure there’ll be enough bricks left over to get something up.” Miles glanced over at David and noticed that he was oddly silent. His eyes didn’t seem to be focusing on anything in particular. It reminded him of how he looked days before sitting in front of that TV. “I could even come back with R, and listen to you guys preach some more, you know, when this is all over. Maybe if I win any money through damages I could buy this parcel of land for ya’.” 

David was grinding his jaw back and forth and wringing his hands. It was like he had something to say but was too nervous or afraid to say it. “Hey,” Miles said, his words making David jump. “You ok? You talk up a lot of concern about me, but you’re just a regular guy. A human. Now it’s my turn to ask, are you ok?” 

“I…I yeah. I just…” He trailed off. 

Miles frowned. There was something up with David. The Engine might have scarred his face, his dark skin left with raised scars and deep pockmarks, but he could still emote. It was easy to read his expression, with his brows pushed forward and his mouth twisted into a forced smile. “You can’t go trying to fool a guy who makes a living off of reading people. Something’s up.”

David let out a shaky breath. “I just don’t know how to approach this topic, that’s all.” He closed his eyes and took a few more deep breaths. “I mean, you’re a fucking god after all.” Miles was going to argue, but he thought against it, he wanted to hear David speak. “I told the others about the soldiers, and about the bombs. They… were scared, yes, but also determined.” He frowned. “Father Morgan said that they will make haste with the…” another drawn out pause, “…preparations.” 

“Preparations? For what?” 

“That…I cannot tell you.” David gave another smile, still weak, but less forced. “The part that’s hard for me to request of you is this; Father Morgan would like you to stay out of the courtyard until everything is ready. He is aware that it is not his or our place to tell you where you can and cannot go, but we are requesting that you do not enter this area, or do a fly over.” 

“That’s what had you so worked up?” Miles chuckled. “Sure, I won’t go there, I have a whole mountain to walk around on for fresh air. I’ll let you guys set up your thing in peace.” 

“Thank you,” David said. There was visible relief on his face. He relaxed back into the couch. “It just wasn’t easy mustering up the courage to ask you to stay out of your own territory. I’m sure you understand.” 

“I suppose I do, but this whole ‘being a worshipped deity’ thing is very strange for me.” He asked, “Can I still come to the services? As long as I enter through the doors attached to the main building?” 

“You still want to keep coming?” 

Miles nodded. “The singing helps calm me down. I really enjoy listening. Even if I do just sit up in the rafters the whole time.” 

“I uh, I don’t see why not.” David told Miles that the preparations should be finished in a week and a half if everything goes smoothly. Miles agreed to keep defending the asylum until the ceremony was over. 

The days seemed to fly by. R would prod Miles awake before the sun rose to practice hunting. The first few trips ended in failure but the Walrider was pleased with the progress his host was making. After a shower he’d start in on the research, and with David’s help it went smoother and faster than before. The nights were spent listening in on the Gospel of the Sand as they did the night service. It all seemed to move too quickly for Miles. The routine made him feel comfortable and almost normal. That was odd to think about, the asylum felt comfortable, it almost tricked him into thinking it felt like a home. 

There was a knock on Miles’ door just before dusk. David stepped through and approached Miles who was on the couch reading with R. “Hey,” Miles said looking up. “What’s up? We already ate, but there’s leftover beans and venison strips if you want any.” 

“So I assume you were successful today?” 

“Yeah,” Miles said as nonchalantly as he could. “It was a small doe, I uh…ate a lot of it in the field.” 

“How was that?” 

Miles frowned. “Disgusting.” 

“Then why-“ 

“There’s just…an _instinct_ I don’t know. I hope it goes away, but when I bit down I just lost myself.” Miles admitted, “This wasn’t the first time it’s happened. A while back when I first became the host I ate a body that R brought me, it was the same feeling then.” 

“Or…when you attacked that guard a few weeks back?” 

Miles nodded. “Yeah, the same kind of thing happened there. It doesn’t happen with cooked foods, or even cold beans and canned meat. It’s just…living flesh that causes that reaction. Anyways, I gorged and R had to pull me off so we could try to do a proper field dress after I calmed down.” 

“Sounds rough,” David said.

“Yeah,” Miles said and rubbed his forehead. “Sometimes it’s good, sometimes it’s a nightmare. Though I’ve been having a lot more good days then bad, so that’s something.” He put the book down and stood up. “So, what did you come here for?” 

“Oh right,” David pointed at the window. “Can we go outside? To the roof? I’d like to watch the sunset if that’s alright with you.” 

“Sure, that doesn’t seem like a bad idea to me.” 

Miles was the first to exit the building, he stepped out into thin air and hovered. “Man that’s a neat trick,” David said as Miles floated alongside the building. 

“Probably the only fun thing about this,” he said. Miles watched David as he tried to climb up onto the roof. The shingles were still damp in some places with moss growing up from them, especially near the gutters. “Here, let me help you.” Miles wrapped his arms around David and gently lifted him up onto the roof. “You weigh basically nothing, so it’s no big deal for me.” He set him down away from any slick spots and touched down himself. “I guess being the host comes with more than one perk.” 

David nodded and sat down. “You’re going to be something Miles. I don’t know if the world is ready for you.” 

“Me either, honestly.” 

“How are you and R getting on?” 

Miles shrugged again. “I dunno, better I guess. It’s hard to tell. He’s really mellowing out. It’s like…he’s developing his own person. I can see it in him some days, and other days he’s back to just being cold and calculated. I don’t know what to think.” 

“You’ll figure it out.” 

Miles nodded and watched the wind blow waves through the trees. The nights were starting to get chilly, it was still September but he knew freezing rain or snow couldn’t be too far away. “Have you and the other Gospel of the Sand members figured out what you’re going to do when we leave?” 

“Yeah,” David said. 

“And?” 

“Just…yeah, I guess. You’ll figure it out tomorrow,” he said quietly. Miles found it strange how disconnected David sounded. Perhaps he was breaking away from the Gospel’s teaching. Miles couldn’t tell. He sure hoped so, he was really hoping David would join the others at the hospital and get real treatment. It never sat well with him that his friend didn’t take that bus down with everyone else. David has a family, a real, honest to god family. A wife and kid that he’d heard far too many stories about. Maybe when the time came for Miles and R to leave the mountain for good he’d be able to convince David to join them. At the very least, the man could travel with them or hide out in one of Miles’ apartments.

“Tomorrow?” Miles said. 

“Yeah,” David replied. “Tomorrow. The preparations are complete.” He didn’t say much else and Miles didn’t ask him to. David was grateful for that. He just wanted to sit next to a friend and watch the sun dip below the horizon line. Out beyond the mountains stacks of clouds were set ablaze by the setting sun. Red and gold streaks carved through the dark blues of the evening sky, like burning scars. Far off in the distance he could see flashes of light, or maybe his eyes were just blinded by brilliance. “It looks like rain,” he said softly.

 

> “I’m still not sold on this whole “god” thing. And I’m not just talking about myself, I mean the big man upstairs too. I just don’t know how any higher force would allow Murkoff to do what they’ve done. Maybe it’s our personal challenge as humans to take care of them. Maybe Murkoff is the embodiment of all the evil on this planet. Or maybe they’re just a corporation out to make money. I sure don’t feel much like a god, not right now. Sometimes I do, when my blood is pumping so hard I can feel it drumming in my ears, when my teeth sink into flesh or a look down on prey from above, I get that rush and I think, “god yes, I’m invincible.” But the high wears off and I go back to the belief that I’m just a science experiment gone wrong, or right? The jury’s still out on that one. I’m just a guy with a really, really advanced parasite.
> 
> The ceremony is tomorrow. I don’t know what to expect or how to feel. I’ve never been in this position before. I’ve never even dreamed of being worshipped, not even as a kid. I don’t know what to expect. I’m scared and nervous all at once; don’t think I’ll be sleeping. The air is charged with electricity, I can feel it on my skin, and in my bones, or maybe that’s just the static. It’s always the static. The ceremony is tomorrow, I wish it were days away.” From- Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, update time!  
> Sorry it took me so long.  
> Honestly, this chapter was supposed to be a bit shorter, but I didn't like how it seemed like nothing happened so I added on to it. I still don't like how nothing seems to have happened. Mainly, I'm stalling because I don't want to write the event that will take place next chapter. I need to be really careful with how I do it. Funfact though, the scene in the next chapter was actually one of the first I ever penned down for this story, back when the Aftermath at Mount Massive was only going to be five to six chapters. Those were the days...  
> Anyways, this chapter marks the appearance of the "Still Got Eight" journal/blog that Miles will be keeping. This entry will replace the "Notes From Mount Massive" entry at the end of the chapter starting in the next section. "Upshur Without a Paddle" will be returning next chapter. I'm not really sure who all pays attention to the start and end notes. 
> 
> I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter, I know it wasn't all that drama filled, but the ball really starts rolling next chapter.   
> Please leave a comment letting me know how I'm doing, what you liked, didn't like, or speculations on what will happen next. All our welcome, I just really like hearing from my readers.
> 
> Thank you to all my readers who have read this monster story, your support means a lot to me.   
> See you in the next chapter.


	12. Rain

One Week Earlier:  
“You can’t use that!” David said laughing.

“Sure we can, we can use whatever footage we goddamn want.” Miles raised the camera again. “This is your interview, call Murkoff every horrible name in the book, invent some if you want.” 

“I’m fairly certain no court is going to take this seriously if I called my superior a “godforsaken glorified drunk with a torture kink” nor would they be too happy to transcribe “motherfucking scientists with their nightmare needles shooting shit into my veins that makes me see hell.”. “

“I liked “Fucking corporate leeches stealing our sanity for profit” the most. It really captured the spirit of the charitable Murkoff Corporation.” Miles leaned back on the couch in the break room. David had decided on a personal interview about his experiences with Murkoff. He was one of the only remaining staff members in the building. The rest died, escaped, or were sent away on that bus weeks ago. He wanted to say some things for the records. Something that Murkoff couldn’t touch, taint, or hide away. When they freed the trapped patients in the Secret Ward Miles had taken David’s statement, but it was formal, and more about the other patients than it was about himself. And David had a lot to talk about.

Miles had heard most of it before. They’ve spent countless hours talking in abandoned rooms, at computers, or up on the roof. Miles felt he knew David as well as any of his close friends, which weren’t many. But he agreed to film the man one more time, or really, as many times as he wanted, provided Miles had space on his memory cards. “The courts don’t need to take this seriously,” Miles said. “After I’m done wading through the shit Murkoff left behind there’ll be more than enough to send all those involved to jail for a very, very long time. So say whatever you want, use this as an opportunity to speak not to judges or jury members, but to the whole goddamn world.” Miles through his arms out wide and grinned. “When I break this story, it’ll go viral, no; it’ll go bigger than viral. This will be a worldwide news phenomenon. People will be talking about this for years. When they go to my website they’ll see everything, including this. Tell the world what you feel, what you want them to hear. Don’t hold back.” 

David thought about that. He was leaning against the wall, near a window. When he glanced outside he could see the trees swaying in the wind, he watched birds fly from branch to branch and squirrels scurry around the bases. The clouds drifted lazily across the sky and for a few moments, David felt at peace. Mount Massive had stopped being a nightmare when he met Miles. It started to feel safe, and he started to feel like he had a place in the world again. He looked back at Miles who was still struggling with his appearance. Whenever he got excited, or overwhelmed with any strong emotion he would shift from a mostly normal, human looking form, to one that resembled the Walrider. Most of the time, like now, Miles wasn’t even aware he was doing it. It was something he’d need to work on if he wanted to leave the asylum, David knew that. He didn’t mention anything; instead he met those blazing silver eyes and said, “So, it’s how I’ll be remembered then?” 

“Exactly. It’s nice to know exactly how you’ll be remembered. Everything I record is a small bit of history, it’s history we get to tell. They say that history is written by the victors, but this time, this time it’s the ones who lost who are going to be telling the story. Tell your story David, exactly how you want people to remember it.” 

“Well then,” he grinned, “let’s start with that asshole Richard Trager.” 

 

Present Day:

_“You look terrible Host.”_

“…” 

_“You can’t sleep?”_

“You already know the answer to that.”

_“We suppose We do.”_ R handed Miles a chunk of raw venison as he sat up. It was cold and limp in his hand. He watched as Miles lifted a lip in disgust but ate it anyways. _“We have not seen you so anxious in a long time.”_

“You could put me to sleep,” Miles grumbled and paced the room. Dark clouds swirled the mountain and Miles couldn’t tell if it was still night or morning. An occasional flash of lightening illuminated the room. David was right, it was indeed going to rain, and from the looks of it, it would continue all day.

_“We could force you to sleep. But We do not think it will help you right now. Sure your body would rest, but your problems would not disappear.”_

“I’m not looking for a magical end all cure for my troubles.” 

_“That would be death,”_ R said with a hint of amusement. 

“Death isn’t magical,” Miles said darkly. “I’m not looking for death either.”

_“That is good, because We would not give it to you.”_ R paced with Miles, he walked alongside his host to give him the illusion of support. He found that the human liked support. _“You are worried about the Gospel of the Sand. You are more worried about David.”_

Miles nodded. Even if R didn’t have access to his head that conclusion wasn’t hard to reach. “Of course I am. He seemed so bloody melancholic up on that roof. Like he was seeing things for the last time.”

R didn’t know what he could say. Right now his host was feeling fear, fear of the unknown. It was the most common type of fear. _“Relax,”_ he said, he tried to sooth his host’s nerves but it just ended up aggravating him further.

”Get out of there,” Miles said. “I don’t like you in my head.”

_“We are just trying to help calm you down.”_

Miles sighed. “The strange part of that, is that I know. This time you really are just trying to help. But I can’t…I can’t fucking deal with another person in my head.” 

_“We are not a person.”_

Miles grinned. “Same thing,” he said. “But I appreciate the gesture. Just…what time is it?”

R answered without hesitation, _“Four thirty five in the morning.”_

“Right,” Miles stopped pacing and walked back to his couch and table. He picked up a half empty can of soda and drained it, washing away the taste of raw meat. “Can you just, put me to sleep? Please? I don’t want to think right now. I need sleep, I want to be prepared, for whatever tomorrow brings.” 

_“Yes, Host. If you command it, We shall do it.”_ He watched as Miles lowered himself onto the couch and covered up with the few clean blankets they were able to scrounge up. As soon as his host closed his eyes R put him to sleep. 

Miles hoped that these few short hours would grant him enough rest to be ready for the events later today. The last thing he heard before his brain shut off was the soothing sound of static and the constant pounding of rain on the roof. 

No amount of sleep could prepare Miles for the days’ activities.

He awoke to much the same sounds as he when he went to bed. Rain. It drummed on the roof and relentlessly pelted the ground outside. He glanced out his window and found the driveway slick with mud. “How long has it been raining?” 

_“Hours, Host. It has not let up.”_

“It was raining that night,” Miles said. 

_“It was. We remember clearly.”_ Once more he handed Miles leftover meat from the deer they killed the day before. His host took it and shoved it into his mouth, he chewed as quickly as he could, swallowing it mostly whole. They were both aware of much he hated raw meat, but R had insisted on him eating it this way. It would retain more of the nutrients and strengthen his gut. Miles wasn’t so sure the benefits outweighed the negatives. R watched Miles make his way towards a small coffee machine. He had taught him all about it a few days before. 

They found the small machine in a relatively unmolested breakroom. Such rooms were more common than they had thought in these upper floors. The violence of the riot hadn’t spread to the areas kept behind lock and key. _“You seemed so small back then, Host.”_ R said as Miles measured out water and poured the coffee grounds into the filter. _“We saw you, and you saw Us, and We knew. What it was that We knew, We hadn’t a clue. But there was something there, a connection, We think. Thin as silk but there.”_

“But you were still tied to Billy. So you couldn’t do anything about it.” 

_“Correct. You were not yet ready either,”_ R said as Miles sat back down. He looked exhausted. R had a feeling it would only get worse as the day went on. He draped a blanket around his host’s shoulders. Miles didn’t complain. _“We could feel a connection, a pull. The Engine was telling Us that you were here, on the grounds, but you weren’t perfect, not yet. There was something missing.”_

“My fingers?” Miles asked as he observed his stumps. They had healed nicely, Miles was satisfied. 

_“No, your fingers weren’t holding Us back, no matter how many you had. There was something else.”_ R sat next to Miles and continued. _“Your mind wasn’t open enough for Us. We had only just made contact after all. Before that We were just a name on paper, screams from the insane and whispers from those who had more of reality to grasp onto. We wanted to observe you more, but Billy had other ideas.”_

“But we did meet, several times, if I recall.” 

_“We did. We remember each time. You grew more and more perfect with each passing meeting. Billy didn’t know it, but he was letting Us get closer to you. Then…then you killed him.”_

“Sorry,” Miles apologized. He didn’t know why he apologized, Billy was trying to kill him, kill everyone who wasn’t Wernicke. Protecting himself wasn’t something he should be sorry for.

_“You killed him and freed Us.”_

Miles grinned. “Still trying to decide if that was a smart move on my part.” He heard the coffee machine chug along, soon it would be done and he’d have something to wake him up a bit better. Caffeine didn’t work on his body like it used to. It took much, much more to have a basic effect. Which was fine with Miles. He found tons of ground instant coffee and Murkoff hadn’t shut off the water supply so he could make as much as he wanted. 

_“We think it was a smart move.”_

“Of course you do, you’re alive because of it.”

_“And so are you,”_

Miles thought about that as he took his first drink. The hot coffee burned down his throat, waking him up. He could feel R scowl as the cells repaired themselves. “I guess I am alive because of you. If you hadn’t chosen me for a host I’d be another decomposing body in this shit hole. But,” he said and took another drink. “But, I’m not sure if it is smart to be alive. Like, did we just doom humanity? If we get discovered, will we spark a new arms race? Will I be some prototype paraded around in front of prospective buyers? Will there be more of you made, more of us created and sent off to kill, to be weapons?”

_“You think too much.”_ R said. _“If We hadn’t saved you, we’d both be dead. The dead don’t have thoughts or regrets. That’s a privilege for the living.”_ R grabbed the now empty mug from Miles’ hand and refilled it and handed it back. _“Murkoff was going to use Us for whatever purpose they had before you arrived. They would have continued towards that goal even if We had died. We are science, We are not supernatural. We can be re-created. They just need the data. In fact, We are confident that they will try again while We enjoy Our freedom.”_

“You think?” 

_“We know.”_ R wasn’t stupid. He might not fully grasp the outside world, but he knows enough of humans and their greed and lust for power to know that they will try again soon. _“All we have to do is focus on not getting caught. We can enjoy our newfound life and Murkoff won’t be any the wiser. We are free, Host.”_

“Free,” Miles echoed. But as he took another sip of hot coffee he didn’t feel all that free. “So you think we got the better end of the deal? The future would be the same regardless if we lived or died down there?”

_“We think it turned out better. Murkoff will still make their weapon, but we both survived.”_

“We’re survivors,” Miles said with a grin.

_“Survivors.”_

The knock Miles was dreading came shortly after his sixth cup of coffee. He was just now beginning to feel the effect of the caffeine. The scalding water had long since made his throat numb. “Come in David,” he called to the door. 

“It is not David, Walrider.”  
“We have come to fetch you instead.”  
“Father Morgan requested you come with us.”  
“David requested you bring your camera.”  
“Make sure it has batteries.”  
“Follow us.”

It was a bit of a surprise to see Allen and Aaron standing in his doorway. Even more of a surprise was to see them both wearing pants. “Miracles do happen,” Miles thought. He grabbed his camera and checked to make sure it had an empty memory card and fresh set of batteries. If David wanted him to bring it, there must be something worth recording. He wasn’t sure if that thought was comforting. 

Allen and Aaron led the way, but it was no mystery as to where they were going. The two made casual conversation, though it wasn’t very inclusive of Miles, it was more directed at him.

“I am glad I did not eat your liver.”  
“And I your tongue.”

They laughed.

“You do understand that we never meant to harm you.”  
“Never harm, just mess with.”  
“Poke fun.”  
“Play a game.” 

“Really? Because your cleavers and eagerness to eat my insides sure paint a different picture.” 

“Father Martin told us you were special.”  
“That we were not to harm you.”   
“Instead we were tasked to guide you.”   
“Make sure you didn’t get into too much trouble.” 

Miles wiggled his fingers, watching the stumps twitch. “You sure did a piss poor job.” 

“You could be dead.”   
“Trager was an unforeseen and unavoidable accident.”   
“We only wanted to push you in the right directions.”   
“Make sure that you made it from point A to point B.”   
“We wouldn’t have done anything if we caught you.”   
“Just because we couldn’t hurt you, didn’t mean we couldn’t have a little fun.”   
“Life here can be rather dull, we are sure you understand.”   
“Father Martin wanted you alive, so you could witness his end.”   
“Father Morgan is much the same.” 

There was a coldness that formed in the pit of his stomach. “So I am going to have to watch another man burn…” 

“No. Not burn.”   
“We do not believe that is the way.”   
“Father Martin was foolish.”   
“Very.”   
“Father Morgan has a much better plan.”   
“A simple plan.” 

Miles didn’t like the topic of this conversation. A static voice buzzed in his head. _“Being worshipped not to your liking, Host?”_

“Stop doing that R.” But Miles was able to crack a small smile. “You know, it could be worse. We could be stuck in some backwater town down south, being worshipped by people toeing the line between incestuous breeding compound and devil worshippers. Or one of those super Christian gated communities.”

_“We do not understand the references.”_

Miles snorted. “Well then, I’ll have to take you on a road trip through the Deep South. We just can’t get out of the Jeep.” He paused and remembered his old car. “Shit, I’m going to have to buy a new Jeep too. I don’t even have my wallet…” 

_“Something wrong Host?”_

“How far can we fly? Like, before I lose my senses and attack anything that moves?”

_“We do not know, it is a good question. Perhaps tomorrow we will perform an endurance test. If We had to guess, if you had a full stomach, maybe three hours of flight.”_

That wasn’t much, the closest apartment he had was back in Oregon. “I have a safe place, in the outside world, a home. But it’s not close to here. We would need a vehicle to get there, and I don’t have one.” 

_“Then we will take one.”_

“I’m not going to steal from the good people of Leadville.” Miles might have been driven to do some horrible things, but he was still above robbery and carjacking. Especially from the very people he was trying to protect. It wouldn’t sit well with him. He didn’t need to add any more questionable actions to the long list of things that kept him up at night. 

_“What about the vehicles in the garage? We passed many of them while searching for that bus.”_

Miles stopped. “Holy shit,” he said. “R that’s a great idea.” But as soon as the idea formed he found something wrong with it. “Those vehicles all belonged to ex Murkoff staff. What if they are logged somewhere on a database? The last thing we need is to get stopped by police because they ran the plates and the car came up stolen.” 

R didn’t know what plates or police were, not really. He had an idea that kept peace, but he didn’t know what function running a plate was. He wanted to poke around in Miles’ head for the answer, but he didn’t want to upset his host further. _“We can always walk, then. Or fly. We are certain that there will be plenty of animals for you to consume for energy.”_

He thought about that. It was a long distance to travel, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to waste the precious time traveling by foot. “I’ll think about it. Maybe we can take one of the company cars and ditch it as soon as we find a more urban area. I can… I don’t know, call Julian for a ride.” 

_“Julian?”_

“A human friend of mine, from the outside. We can trust him.” 

_“He was in the video, right?”_

Miles almost asked what video, but then he remembered that R watched the New Year’s footage with him. “Yeah, Julian was the guy I was sitting next to on the couch. He’s a really good guy, he cares about my stupid ass, and that’s all that matters.” 

_“Will he mind Us?”_

“We won’t tell him about you. You’ll stay silent and invisible. No humans will know about you.” 

R nodded. He assumed this would be the outcome; the price of freedom was that he was reduced to a shadow. The Walrider decided he would be ok with that. Being outside would be worth it. He would be a shadow forever if it meant he got to see the world.

It wasn’t a surprise, where they were heading. The Twins opened a side door and they all stepped out into the courtyard. Miles created a thin shell of nanites over his head to block out the rain. He smiled at his idea, it was way better than an umbrella. “Hey, this isn’t bad for them right? For the nanites? They can get wet, right?” 

A chuckle came from R’s static. _“Of course Host. The human body is mostly water. It would be stupid if Our cells were weak to the very environment We were designed to live in.”_

“Oh,” Miles said. “Well, when you put it that way, it does make sense.” 

_“You should have no fear of swimming, showering, or walking in the rain. The Swarm will always be there to assist you and We will never fail to be by your side, no matter the conditions.”_

That was oddly comforting to hear. Miles wasn’t always the most confident man, and this was only compounded when he became the Host. Sure, he was strong, and quick, but he had never felt more alone than he had now. Knowing that he had at least something that would always have his back was very reassuring. He had Julian, but he didn’t know if he’d always have Julian. 

The inner sections of the courtyard were a quick walk away. They approached the new church and already Miles’ stomach was uneasy. Even through the pouring rain he could tell something wasn’t right. There were no lights coming from the building, it was dark. The Variants hadn’t been able to install electrical lighting into the newly erected building, but there were always multitudes of candles gently flickering in the dull gloom. It gave the building a peaceful homey feeling. It was strange that on a dark and cloudy day there would be no light. Miles hoped that by chance whatever celebration or speech would be moved indoors because of the rain and the church wasn’t going to be used at all. Though, he had a hard time coming up with an alternative space within the asylum walls to host them. 

Allen and Aaron didn’t seem bothered by the darkened building and pressed on towards it. He could just start to hear Father Morgan’s voice over the droplets pounding on the hardened swarm. 

“The darkness will not scare us, we will walk boldly, proudly into it. We will embrace it and we will not be afraid.” Miles already didn’t like the sound of that. They came up to the church and spotted several Variants moving in around the building, but most of the voices seemed to be coming from around the side. “Walrider is not a god to profess our sins to, no Father Martin was wrong about that. The Walrider does not care if we are broken, it does not need a sacrifice, nor will it be our rebirth. The Walrider is our light, our escape. Do not be afraid, all are accepted, there is no judgment at our gates.” 

When they turned the corner Miles froze. “No, oh hell no.” He said and started to back up. Every single member of the Gospel of the Sand seemed to be gathered before Father Morgan. But that wasn’t what had Miles upset, he’d seen the full group before, it was what they were standing next to that made him uneasy. Mounds of dirt sat like faithful dogs next to the legs of each person. Piles of dirt left over from digging large holes. He didn’t have to be a reporter to line those pieces up.

They were graves.

_“Is something the matter Host?”_

Miles swallowed. “Yeah, I’d say something is the matter.” He turned to walk away but a strong hand gripped his arm.

“We cannot allow you to leave.”   
“Not until you’ve heard the speech.” 

“I’m not going to watch a massacre,” Miles said a bit too loud.

Father Morgan’s loud; almost commanding voice filled the field. “You won’t be watching a massacre Host. You will be helping us obtain true freedom.” 

“Freedom? Death isn’t freedom,” Miles snarled. “Death is just death!” 

Father Morgan laughed quietly. “It is natural for you to be scared; we are all scared at some point in our life. But it’s time to look past your fears and accept the truth.” 

“I won’t watch you kill yourselves,” he said.

“Like I said before, you won’t be watching, you’ll be participating.” 

With that something snapped in Miles. He could feel his teeth grow pointed as his form shifted from human to monster. The Gospel of the Sand members didn’t seem to be bothered by his outburst and stepped aside as he charged their leader. Miles stopped just short of the priest. He was growling like a wild animal but he couldn’t help it. “I will not kill these people,” he said. “I promised myself that I would only harm those who deserved it. These men you’ve brainwashed are innocent and I’m not killing them.” 

“I am not just asking you, Host. But our Lord the Walrider as well. You do not get the final word, the Walrider does. You are just the host.” 

Miles’ hand found itself wrapped around Father Morgan’s throat. “That’s where you’re dangerously wrong. The Walrider doesn’t control me, I control the Walrider.” His grip tightened, “And I’m not a murderer, I’m not a monster.” 

“You helped those strapped to beds and tortured move on peacefully,” Father Morgan choked out. “You’ve killed for the right reasons, that doesn’t make you a murderer.” Miles’ eyes didn’t break contact with Father Morgan’s and he shivered under the gaze. “Look around you,” he said, “these people aren’t asking for much. They just want this torment to end.” 

“Death isn’t the answer they’re looking for, you’re wrong.” 

“Are we?” Father Morgan let the question hang in the air. Miles looked behind him, his hand still wrapped firmly around Father Morgan. He saw all the faces of the Gospel of the Sand. “Are we truly wrong? The men that are left, they are far too broken to be saved; they are far too damaged in both mind and body.” Images of cancerous tumors flashed through Miles’ mind. The reports he read that said the Variants would die within weeks if left untreated. “All these men have left to look forward to is starving to death,” Father Morgan said quietly. “I was a doctor here, remember? I know all too well what effects the Engine has on people. They don’t have long, if the hunger doesn’t kill them, the cancer will.” 

“I…” Miles looked back over the crowd. There were so many people. People who just weeks ago he thought of as beautiful. He remembered their voices coming together in a song that was far more moving than anything he had ever experienced.“I…” Then he imagined them in the coming days, weeks. Their faces were already showing signs of what was to come. They were gaunt, tired. He knew Father Morgan was right. Even if Miles shared his small stash of food it wouldn’t last long. And when he ran out he might be forced to hunt the very people he was fighting to protect. 

“Do not look out at them with pity, look at them and see the courage, the pride. They are not simply throwing their lives away; they are asking to go their way, and by their god. They are not afraid. You should not be afraid either.” 

Miles finally released his hold on the other man. “I’m not afraid.” But he was, he was so afraid.

“So you agree?”

The first time he tried to speak his voice faltered, so he swallowed and tried again. “Y-Yeah.” 

“Wonderful.” Father Morgan stepped beside Miles and addressed the crowd. “The Host has agreed to lend his power to the ceremony. He and the Walrider will start you on the path to your freedom.” Surprisingly the group of people cheered, and each clap hit Miles like a cold knife in the gut. The priest turned to Miles once more. “You will start down there with them,” he said. “I will go near the end. Allen and Aaron volunteered their services to you and will go last.” Miles couldn’t fathom what services he’d need but he didn’t argue. “Be gentle with them,” Father Morgan requested. 

“Death is never gentle,” he replied and jumped down from the platform. 

_“Host are you certain you are alright?”_

“No,” Miles said walked to their first victim. 

_“You have done this before. Be calm, collect yourself. Just like in the Male Ward, when we dealt with Trager’s patients.”_ The Walrider stood beside Miles, coaching him and reassuring him. _“We agree with the priest. These humans would only die painfully and slowly if left alone. This is a gift that we are giving them. Even We understand that much.”_

“Some gift,” Miles said darkly as he placed his hand on the Variant’s chest. Just like before the Walrider’s hand joined Miles’ and went through him into the man’s body. With a focused breath Miles closed his hand and through the Walrider felt the Variant’s heart come to a stop. He made sure to direct nanites to the brain to prevent the man from feeling pain. The life faded from his eyes and he dropped to the ground. Startled Miles scrambled to pick him back up again, but he was dead and his body hung limply in his arms. Miles had to force himself not to shake as he lowered the body into the pre dug grave.

He moved to the next one, then the next, repeating the process over and over again. With each life he took, it felt like a part of his own was leaving too. A coldness seeped into Miles that wasn’t caused by the pounding rain. A few of the Variants thanked him when it became their turn. They told him how much it meant to them that they were being brought into the next life by the Walrider. Their words should have been those of comfort, but rang hollow inside of the Host. 

He had put his emotions aside and just focused on the task ahead. That was, until he reached one man in the middle of the crowd. “Not you,” Miles murmured.

“Afraid so,” David said.

“I won’t.” 

David grabbed his hand placed it on his chest. “Please,” he said, “please do this for me.” 

Miles shook his head. “No, damn it you’re my friend!” 

David smiled sadly. “I suppose I am, aren’t I? I…I never meant to grow close to you, I knew it would only lead to pain when this day came.” 

“You knew? All along you knew?” 

“Of course,” his eyes rested on the camera around Miles’ neck. “If your camera is waterproof, I have a request.” 

“What is it?” Miles asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to record me; I have…a few things to say to my wife, to my family.” 

Miles was crying, he could feel the difference between the cold rain drops and his hot tears. “Don’t make me carry your last words with me, damn it don’t make me. Whatever you have to say to them you can say it in person.” 

“It’s far too late for that,” David said. 

Miles shook his head again, sending droplets of water flying. “No, no it’s not. That’s bullshit. I can get you to a doctor, they can fix you, I know they-“ 

“Miles stop.” David’s voice was firm, but gentle. “I’m so sorry I’ve put you through this.” 

“R could…R could, I don’t know, do something…” 

David’s hand squeezed Miles’ and he said quietly, “Miles please...just stop. It's ok. R can't do anything to reverse the damage that's been done, I don't even know if the best doctors in the world can save us.”

Tears were still flowing freely from his eyes when he nodded. “You're asking me to kill you.”

“I am. And I'm so sorry. But this is what I want.”

“You're going to leave me alone.”

David nodded. “You didn't have a problem with that before, you wanted me to leave with the others, remember?”

“Yeah but that was different. You'd be getting help, I barely knew you… Now, now it feels so wrong.” Miles looked up at David, his eyes and voice pleading, “Why can't you just put it off until I'm ready to leave? Can't you do that? Give me that?” 

David shook his head. “No Miles,” he said, “if I put it off any longer you might just back out completely. I don't want to die Miles, no one does. But this,” he gestured to his ruined face and tumor coated arm and chest, “this isn't living, I'm in so much pain. I can't risk it, you could fly away and leave me here, you could force me to a doctor, you're stronger than I am. But this is what I want. After losing control of my life and fate I feel like this is a way to take it back. I can choose when and how I get to die, on my terms, and…” He gave Miles a weak smile. “Someone I trust is going to be the one who helps me leave this world.” 

“Dying isn't exactly taking back your life,” Miles argued. But he knew he was going to lose this battle. “I... I’ll do it, but it's going to tear me apart David.”

“I know,” he said, “god I know.” David reached up and put a hand on Miles’ shoulder. “You're not a monster,” he said. “Miles look at me,” he met his friend's eyes without flinching. They may be jet black with burning silver, but they leaked tears like any other human. “Your appearance doesn't change anything; your actions have always had good intent. Miles this day will not make you a monster. Remember that.”

Miles tried to smile, his sharp teeth poking out from his lips, and held up his camera. “You still want that interview?” “Yeah, I would.” David took a few breaths to steady himself. “Before we start… perhaps you could order R to continue on with the other members? I just realized we’re holding up the ceremony.”

_“Host, We can perform the needed procedure if you wish. However We cannot be as precise or gentle as you. But We can do it.”_

Miles hesitated in giving the order. He didn't want any of these men to suffer. “I...I think it would be better if we waited. They can be patient for a few more minutes.” The Gospel of the Sand had no real ability to argue. They couldn't challenge their God or its host. All they could do was shiver slightly in the pouring rain. “Ready when you are.”

David gave a short nod and started talking. The words had been well rehearsed and he spoke them with surprising confidence. “Hey, Anna, by now you've probably heard about Mount Massive and what happened there. You've probably been informed that I died a long time ago, but that wasn't true. I was alive and they lied. There were so many lies. I'm sorry, I never meant to leave you alone, I never meant to abandon you or Edward, everything got out of control so fast. I just wanted to do the right thing, you have to believe that's all I ever wanted.” David took another set of controlled breaths before he resumed. “I love you Anna, I've always loved you. And Ed you know I've never been prouder of you, I love you too little man. Keep making your mom and I proud. Help all the people I couldn't ok? As you both can probably guess, I will not be leaving this mountain. They did something to me, horrible things, and these things will kill me. I want you both to…” Miles noticed a shift in David’s eyes. His dark brown eyes seemed to burn with an intensity and anger he had never seen before. “I want you both to never go looking for Murkoff. Do not fight them; this is not your battle. Please don't toss your lives away on revenge. It's not what I want. I want you both to live. I’m sorry I can't be with you; I just wanted you to know that I did not abandon you and I did not want this. I love you, and I am so, so sorry.” He smiled. “Goodbye.”

Miles lowered the camera and turned it off. “Sounded like that was rehearsed.” 

“It was, a bit,” David said. “I think I rambled, I could have made it shorter.” He glanced up at the dark sky; he didn’t flinch as the rain struck his face. “I wish it wasn’t raining,” he said softly. When he turned his attention back to Miles he offered a weak smile and grabbed his hand again. “I trust you.”

Miles swallowed the lump in his throat and nodded. His hand was over David’s chest, he could feel the heart beneath the skin and muscle beating. A steady thump, thump, thump, thump, it pounded through Miles’ arm and hammered its way into his brain. Before Miles could tell R to place his hand over his own David spoke up again. “I uh…Miles, I changed my mind.” The hopeful look that flashed over his features was quickly killed when David clarified, “About the footage you just shot. Can you…please not show my family that?”

“W-Why? I thought it was nice.” 

David looked away then back up, his eyes still shifted when he was nervous, even moments before death. “A while back we talked about how we were in control of how we are remembered. And I…I don’t want them to remember me as this. I don’t want them to see me, deformed and defeated, small and soaked in the rain. I want them to remember me when I was whole and strong. I want them to remember the father, the husband, not the sickly tortured test subject. So please, don’t show them this.” 

Miles nodded. “Alright,” he agreed. “If that’s what you want.” 

“Thanks.” He added, “Could I make one last request of you?” Miles nodded again, David had a feeling he’d get the man to do anything he asked right now. “Could you, call my wife, when you make it off the mountain? Don’t tell her everything, just let her know that I didn’t abandon them, I wasn’t sick or dead or whatever lie Murkoff told them. Tell her the truth, and that you were there with me when I died so she knows I wasn’t alone. Tell her I loved her and I’m proud of my son. But promise me,” he gripped Miles’ hand tightly. “Promise me you will tell them not to go after Murkoff. I couldn’t stand it if they got hurt trying seek justice. You’ll be my justice, let them know that.”

“I will.” 

“Thank you.” David took one last look at the world around him. At the muddy ground, and scattered patches of grass, he saw his fellow Gospel of the Sand members waiting quietly for their turn and he saw the Walrider standing beside Miles, dark and strong. “Take care of him,” he said directly to R. “Don’t let anything happen to him.”

R could not speak to the human but he nodded and replied anyways, _“We will always protect Our Host. We will never leave his side, for as long as his heart still beats.”_

David smiled and said, “Well, this is it. Thank you, Miles.”

When David closed his eyes Miles focused on his heart and vital organs. With the Swarm’s help he was able to infiltrate David’s body and put a quick end to his life. There was a small gasp then nothing as his heart fell silent and his body fell towards the earth. Miles was ready to support his dead weight and lower him gently to the ground. He didn’t place him the hole, he just sat with him, hunched over, and tried not to cry. He was unsuccessful. 

During his stay at Mount Massive Miles had killed over a hundred people. He had felt warm blood rush his throat and ate flesh straight from the bone. He had torn people apart and ripped open throats with his bare hands and sharp claws. But this was different; this death hit him and left him numb to the world. 

He was barely aware of Allen and Aaron talking to him.

“You must get on with the others.”   
“So many are waiting for you to save them.”   
“Lead them to their peace.”   
“Get up.”   
“We will bury him like the others.” 

“No,” Miles said.

“No?”   
“You want him to rot then?”

“No. I will bury him, away from the others, on my own.” 

“You would be giving him special treatment.”   
“Separating him from the rest.”   
“Elevating his status above that of even Father Morgan.”   
“Did he want this?” 

“I don’t care. I don’t fucking care. Sure, I’ll make him a fucking god alongside me if it’ll get you to shut up and leave us alone.” Miles clutched the body, which was still warm against the cold rain. After some mental persuasion from the Walrider Miles stood and resumed moving down the line of men. He killed each one with deadly, efficient, touch. 

R wanted to be proud of how well his host was using the swarm and how much he had learned from his time in the Male Ward, but he could feel that Miles was not all the way there. Right now he was more a hollow shell than a solid entity. He was running on autopilot and nothing else. When they reached Father Morgan R noticed a flash of life and energy course through Miles. Most of it was anger, and pain and it ripped through Father Morgan like a bolt of lightning through the air. 

The father did not die peacefully with the others. His last moments were filled with the anguish and pain that filled Miles. Later Miles would look back at this moment and regret his actions. Father Morgan didn’t deserve a death that was any different from the others. His role as a doctor of Murkoff was more than punished by the experiments and tortures he experienced at their hands. The man redeemed himself by lifting the spirits of the broken and giving them hope and a path of light to follow in the darkness. But Miles wasn’t thinking of that, he was thinking of the kill order he had forced upon him by the very same man. He was thinking about all the hearts that synched with his own only to be crushed. He thought of the large mass grave that now stood full behind him. He wanted someone else to feel the suffering that he felt, and the only one left was Father Morgan.

_“Are you ok Host?”_ R knew it was a stupid thing to ask, and he expected nothing as an answer. He was not surprised when he got it. He followed Miles along the rows of graves to where David’s body lay. The Twins were hard at work shoveling the sloppy mud into the holes and covering each of their fallen brothers. R wanted to offer some form of comfort to his host, but he couldn’t think of anything to say. His mind didn’t have memories to draw upon for this kind of human pain. All he could do was follow silently as Miles picked up the corpse and walked away.

They didn’t walk too far from the mass grave. Miles was growing weak and the courtyard had plenty of space. He sat down, carefully cradling David’s body to his own as he sat. In front of him was a small twisted tree that struggled up towards the sky. Its gnarled branches told a tale of its struggles for sunlight and its resilience to nature. A fitting organism to protect David’s body. Miles didn’t have the energy to dig a hole, but R did. He sent out a sharp and strong command. _Dig._ And R did. 

The Walrider clawed away at the soft earth and worked tirelessly as Miles wept. R could form his claws into the perfect set of shovels and he easily dug out a hole large enough for David’s body. Eventually the tears dried up and Miles was left numb and clutching a stiffening body. With help from R he lowered his friend into the hole and stepped back as R started to throw the dirt back in. The sound of the wet mud striking the pooled water at the bottom sent a shiver down Miles’ spine, but he didn’t step away until the last of David’s skin vanished beneath the earth. There was no exchange of words, much like with Billy. There was nothing to say that hadn’t already been said between them. He was certain that his voice wouldn’t hold if he had tried to speak. 

R finished with the burial quickly and Miles sent him away to help the Twins with their similarly grim task. Miles took shelter under the tree beside David’s grave and stared blankly out at the field. His mind drifted back to college, to when he’d have to do literary analysis of novels. His professors always told them to look into the deeper meaning of everything; they said that authors never wrote anything without a purpose and that the smallest details would reach back to the overarching theme.

He watched the rain continue to slam into the ground. It washed away his footprints in the mud and left small rivers and lakes everywhere. The water poured over Miles, he no longer bothered to keep an umbrella of nanites between himself and the rain.

Rain was supposed to symbolize a great cleansing. If he were a character in a novel this scene could be read as a rebirth, a time to move forward and leave the past behind. He would emerge a better person, a stronger person, and the rain was there to remind him that his sins were being washed away and he’d be pure once more.

But this wasn’t a novel. All this rain only made him shiver, and no amount of water could ever clean the red from his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...  
> I finally did it...  
> Bye David, you will be missed.  
> Originally this chapter was supposed to happen shortly after "Those Left Behind" but I liked David too much and wanted to keep him around, so I pushed this scene back and rearranged some other events.  
> I know I've said this before, but we're nearing the end of part one of Survivors. There's about four chapters to go, three if I feel like cutting some stuff.  
> I want to thank everyone for reading this story so far, it's been a long one, I know, and it's not getting any shorter.  
> Every comment and reader I get I am very thankful for.
> 
> As a final note, with the game play teasers for Outlast 2 out I would like to say that this story has been completely plotted out from start to finish. I finished the outline of the plot a year ago when I first started drafting the early chapters. As such, I will not be changing this story to fit any future canon that appears in the next game or in the comics. That means there will be no Blake or Lynn or mention of that town. (even if I did jokingly reference it in this chapter) It will also change this story from an "after the game prediction AU" to a "canon divergent AU". Not too big of a deal, I just thought I'd let you guys know that I won't be using future canon.


	13. Breaking Point

Our Host breaks a bit after that. It was slow, the breaking but it was there and We felt it as if it were Our own. We didn’t dwell on it, Our Host has been through so much, and he will go through much more in the future. We know this to be true. It worried Us though, Our Host has always been so steady. He had his ups and downs, but he has been by far the most stable host We have ever had. Seeing him like this, it's cause for some concern. We aren't quite ready to admit that he is just a frail mortal, like all the others. Special, but not different.

The days crept on slowly. We made sure Our Host ate, woke up every day, and went to sleep every night. There is a natural rhythm to the human body that shouldn't be disrupted. It's a routine that became as familiar to Us as the steady hum of the Engine downstairs. 

In the short time that passed We taught him many things. He wasn’t thrilled to learn some of these things, but his mind was weak and malleable. Our Host fought Us less and less every day. At first his lack of life wasn't that concerning. But now We can’t help but wonder if he's slipping, if he's moving out of this reality and into his own little world. It would mean that we would be growing closer to being one. That was Our original goal. Our mission, Our programing, everything that the scientists worked for was for Us to merge. But, an equally possible outcome is that he could just regress into himself and leave Us as the one in sole control of his body and functions.

That outcome would be the closest to true freedom We could ever hope to obtain. And it scares Us. It's always been something We’ve thought about. If We overpower Our Host just right We could take control of their body and mind. We could be just like them, just like a human. Our terrifying power would not go away; We would be human only in looks. The prospect of having a body and sense of self seemed so far away that We never considered it. That wasn't the goal of Our programing. We are supposed to dissolve away, become a tool for Our Host. Becoming Our own person is something We never thought could happen. That much power, We do not know what to do with it.

For the past sixty six years We have been under the direct control of someone or something. Autonomy was something We have never known. To be given that chance seems wrong. Being free feels wrong. Our Host would find that fucked up, but right now he doesn't think much of anything. 

But why are We afraid of freedom? We cannot fathom an answer. All We know is that We need Our Host. We need him awake and alert and in control. We even need the arguments and bitter defiance. We do not want to realize that We are nothing without him. We do not want to be just machines whirring in the air. We want to be a tool, We want to be used, We don’t want to be nothing. But We also don’t want to be alone in a shell of a body. This consciousness that We have developed with this Host, it wasn’t supposed to happen, but it has and it has given us something We have never had before. Fear.

We urged Our Host to get up; We begged and pleaded with him to do something, anything. 

“What's the point?” He said into the couch cushion. There was a lifelessness to his voice that made Us uneasy. 

_“There's always a point, Host. To eat, or wake, or do your research.”_ We were trying very hard, but motivation had never been one of Our strong points.

Our Host scoffed at our last suggestion. It was like the idea or the action was suddenly laughable, like it was something with little worth, just another joke. Our Host waved his hand at the mountain of papers on the desk. “It just doesn't mean anything,” he said this in a voice much darker than he had intended, We could tell. He seemed surprised at himself. “Even if I can get every single scrap of evidence, it won't matter. It won't bring back the dead. It won’t…” He pauses and breathed in through his mouth and out through his nose. It was a feeble attempt to calm himself. “It won't,” he starts again, stops again, and resumes, “it won't stop the screams.”

We looked at Our Host, worry coloring Our static. Humans had always been problematic for Us. Their emotions were foreign and confusing. We were making a huge effort to learn for Our Host’s sake, but it slow going. _“We should get you something to eat.”_ It wasn’t what We should have said, but Our responses were limited. We were well aware of Our Host’s nightmares that started plaguing him recently. We were also aware of the content of those dreams, and how they leaked into Our Host’s waking world as well. We knew this, but We didn’t have the answer that would solve his problem, make it better, or go away. So We suggested the only thing We did know, food. It was Our job to keep him running, keep him alive and We had become experts on the human body. We might not be able to fix his mind, but we could fill his stomach, quench his thirst and give his body the proper amount of sleep at night.

Our Host didn’t argue. He doesn't do much of anything anymore. It was a quiet walk to the Male Ward kitchen. Our store had been raided while we were out hunting a few days ago. The comfy pocket of food that Our Host used was no longer there. He was on edge and irritable whenever he bothered to feel emotions. We watched him rummage around looking for anything edible. He found a lonely can of potatoes under a stove and ripped the can open. They were consumed in a few famished gulps. He continued to root through cabinets and look under appliances. We found nothing more. 

The hunger was making him violent. While we were in route to the Vocational Block kitchen he snapped and attacked a small man who was cowering in the corner. We felt the waves of pleasure that flowed through him and into Us. It was a familiar feeling, eating always has this effect. However the man was rather thin and the meat wasn't much. This would last Our Host maybe two meals. 

We stood watch as he ripped into the man and consumed his fill. Our Host hates eating humans but sometimes he cannot stop himself. The desire that We have to keep his body alive was passed onto him. Now his brain, separated from Our influence will act. When his body craves food he is no longer in control. We waited until he was done. Attempted communication would not work anyway, once he goes into this state there is no reaching him. He becomes a slave to his hunger and his instincts.

When he does finish he looked up at Us with a blank face and dead eyes that streamed tears through the blood. He's not sobbing though, and We wonder if he's lost the ability to.

He glanced down at the body and swore. The look he gave Us was one of pure hatred. It's strong enough to send Us shrinking back away from him. We aren't sure why Our Host hates us so much. The basic idea was simple enough, he didn't like the cravings, the anger, he didn't like being connected to Us. But We had saved his life, the least he could do was be grateful. 

We tested the waters by saying that out loud. 

Our Host twisted around to face Us, there was fire blazing his silver irises. We were glad, anger was far better than nothing and We greedily relished the surge of emotion. After the days of melancholic silence this outburst was like getting a gift well saved up for. Or, at least so We thought, We had never been given many gifts, Our knowledge on that comes from Our Host.

“What did you fucking say?” Our Host’s voice cut through Our pleasure and brought Us back into the moment. His words stung.

_“We said, “you should be grateful that We saved your life. You owe Us.””_

“Bullshit. I don’t owe you anything.” He walked away, steady on his feet. Feeding had stopped the shakes and cleared his mind; We could feel his thoughts returning to normal. Hopefully that also meant this little fit he was throwing would end soon as well. “You saved my life, but for what?” He gestured at the body on the floor, half eaten entrails spread out across the tile. “So I can live my life like an animal? So I can be chained to this place forever? I’m not alive.” His voice grew less angry and more depressed. It’s so soft that We struggled to hear it. In nearly a whisper he said, “You didn’t save anything. I’ve been dead for weeks.” 

And maybe that was true, We thought. Maybe Miles Upshur as he knew himself died. But there’s a Miles Upshur standing right in front of Us and this Upshur is alive. His heart beats and his lungs move and he’s so full of life that it’s almost radiating from him. But all that pulsating, illuminating light is useless to someone who is blind. 

We picked up the carcass. It had not been fully consumed and We know Our Host will need to eat again later. Saving it means We can save Miles from killing a fresh one. To Us, it makes no difference but to Our Host it means the world and more. So We scooped up the body, and piled the entrails on the chest so they wouldn’t drag on the floor as We followed Our Host.

We felt something pull at Us, words and pictures that get pulled through what might be called a brain. We are not entirely sure if We have one. The words and pictures string together, they form a command from Our Host, an order. We see a table in the Administration Block and hear “Leave it there,” ring clearly through the static. 

We nodded and left Our Host’s side. Following commands is easy. It is what We were made to do. There are very few exceptions to this one rule. We must obey Our Host. The one exception being in extreme situations that render Our Host unable to issue commands or when the host’s life is in immediate danger. Only then can We act on our own in a way that holds meaning. We do not need Our Host’s permission to float along beside him, nor do We need to run border patrols, or watch him while he sleeps. But, We lack the ability to act on our own in regards to our Host’s body, anything that requires a heavy choice is beyond Our reach. 

At least for now.

If an order comes from Our Host We must follow it. 

We made good time to the Administration Block from where we were, the edge of the Male Ward. We are quick, faster and more deadly than anything else on this mountain. We would go as far to say the world, but We have not seen that yet, there may be something out there that outcompetes us, but We doubt it. 

The asylum has been Our home for the past five years. Though We were not permitted to leave Our host’s side, We were still able to get a grasp of the building’s layout through our limited freedom. The laboratory was where We spent the vast majority of Our life. The differences between the one in Mount Massive, the secret labs that We were rotated through, and Our first home were little to none. All of them were prisons to Us. None of them held happy memories. The ability to quickly memorize a building plan was something that was not programmed into Us. We developed this ability on Our own, using pieces of memories from Our hosts as well as fragments stolen from staff members who dreams walked too close to the Engine. Though We were never taught or told to quickly gather this data, there is no doubt in Our mind that it is a useful skill that will come in handy down the road. 

Right now it just made navigating the run down halls and winding air vents far easier. However the corpse in Our arms prevented Us from taking a few shortcuts that would have drastically lowered the time it took Us to go from one end of the building to the other. Still, We made decent time and gently set the body down on the table. Our Host had not instructed Us to place it in any of the working freezers or refrigerators, so he must be planning on feeding again soon. We have advised him not to consume old meat; it is not good for him. 

We were in the middle of closing the door on Our Host’s snack when We felt something. It was a quickening of a pulse and a sudden drop in blood pressure. We do not feel such things personally; We are mostly mechanical and not something of flesh and blood. What We were feeling came directly from Our Host. Something happened to him.

We bolted from the hallway and descended on the asylum. We tore through everything and anything to get to Our Host’s side. Now that We were no longer burdened by the dead body We could utilize the ventilation systems and cut through areas much faster. Contrary to what Our Host often believed, We cannot pass through walls. Our body, though made up of very small particles, is still solid. Those particles cannot pass through solid objects. Though, at that moment We wished they could. Our worry only increased when Our Host’s heart rate spiked suddenly. 

What could have happened We hadn’t a clue. Our Host was a monster, something truly beautiful and strong. There was nothing in this asylum he could not handle. Even guns proved to be useless when shot through the body. We tried to establish a connection and get a better damage report but We were being locked out. He was conscious enough to be blocking Us, and We weren’t sure that was a good sign. Whatever problem he was having, he didn’t want us to know. Not entirely at least. Either the thing that he was fighting demanded his full attention or he was trying to heal his own body and couldn’t get distracted by Our presence. We prayed for the first option. If something was attacking him We could still arrive and provide backup.

We don’t tire, like humans, but we could get stressed. Our brain isn’t a brain but We do have emotions, unfortunately. We try to deny them, but after being tied to this particular host We are feeling these emotions far more strongly. Too strongly to ignore as just carry over from his personality. Not knowing his condition was driving Us to a near panicked state. We needed to know what was happening. What we didn’t expect to hear was Our Host’s voice when we arrived in a dirty hallway. He was in a room just two doors down from where We were standing. He was muttering something over and over again. We could not make out the words and We were not relieved to hear his voice. Something was very, very wrong. `

_“Host?”_ We called as We entered the room. 

Our Host continued to mutter. His eyes didn’t even move to look at Us. They were fixed on some unseen point on the ground. However he was standing, his body braced against the wall. But that’s when We noticed the blood. _“Host! What are you… what happened?”_ His arms were bleeding profusely, blood dripped down and was pooling by his feet. 

Our Host finally looked up and smirked. His eyes seemed glassy, but his voice was firm. “Try to save me now asshole,” he said. The smile never fell from his face.

He laughed and that’s when We caught sight of something clenched in his hand. It was a shard of glass or broken mirror. Our Host’s claws were fully manifested and clogged with flesh and blood. It was clear that he used them when the glass proved ineffective enough. His arm was a mess of torn skin and rivers of blood. It became all too obvious what had happened. _“You selfish, immature, child!”_ We spat and rushed towards him. The sharp edge dropped from his hands and his body slid to the floor. 

We needed to know the damage and We needed to start repairing what had been done. Our Host was swiftly losing energy and consciousness.We placed Our hands on his arms and began hardening nanites over the wounds. We were in a bathroom but We didn’t dare touch the water from the faucets. There was no telling what lived in those pipes and We couldn’t risk fighting an infection on top of restoring Our Host’s blood cells and lost tissue. For now the wounds would be treated without being rinsed. The bleeding needed to be stopped; We could deal with the rest later.

We busied Ourself with repairing broken nerve connections and bridging veins and arteries. We forced Our Host’s body to over produce blood cells while We used our cells to make new temporary veins and connections. What cells We weren’t using to maintain Our physical form or repair Our Host were sent to create a hard covering over all of the cuts. It was much like a giant scab, or natural cast. This would protect the wound and allow Us to transport Our Host to a safer location. 

Our Host had long since passed out. We let him; there was no use in keeping him awake. As long as his heart and lungs continued to function we would be fine. We weren’t sure if he slipped into unconsciousness due to the pain or blood loss and We didn’t care. Our host had ripped his arms apart and destroyed muscle, tendons, nerves and arteries to such an extent We feared he may lose the ability to use the limbs in the future. We wondered why he didn’t go the most direct route and try for decapitation or slice a bigger artery. Sure, his arms were good targets, and once destroyed ruined the chance at going for another target. But there was another reason. We could feel that underneath the blind anger and pain he was scared. Our Host was so terribly afraid. Humans are stupid creatures. 

Lucky for him We worked fast and We were confident in our knowledge and ability to heal his body. We caught this quickly and the cell death was kept to a minimum. We gently lifted his body and carried him to his bedroom. As We have said before, We do not tire, so the walk from the Male Ward to the Administration did not bother Us. We set him down on the couch gently and were very careful not to disrupt the hardened nanite shield. 

We watched Our Host sleep for a while. We were still monitoring his heartbeat and blood pressure. Things were beginning to get back to normal and his vitals felt stable. But We also knew that this kind of rapid, forced, healing took energy. He would need to eat again. Raw meat was out of the question. Not only did Our host hate it, but he was in no shape to be chewing tough food. But he needed nourishment and We had an idea.

We made our way back to the dead body We had left on a table near the main room. There was a bowl that We filled with water from a sink and We began the process of shredding the human meat thinly and depositing it in the bowl. Through the use of books and the thing Our Host called the internet We learned that many animals feed their young a form of mashed nutrients. Most transfer this meal via regurgitation; they partially digest the meal and then pass on the mush to their less capable offspring. Of course We could not digest anything, We do not have organs, but we do have claws to shred and a microwave to cook, so perhaps that would be alright. 

The microwave wasn’t a problem. We had watched Our Host and David use this device many times and there were countless examples of it in the memories of all of our hosts. We pushed a few buttons and hit start. Watching the bowl spin lazily in the microwave seemed almost normal, the act was something so miniscule that for a moment We almost forgot the horrible things that Our Host had done to himself. The machine dinged and We took the meat mush back to the main room. Our Host was still sleeping, but he needed the energy and thus needed to be awake. We nudged him awake, and when his eyes slowly opened said, _“Still alive Host.”_

He groaned and tried to sit up, but his arms couldn’t support his weight and fell back. ”Shit,” he said.

_“Yeah, shit,”_ We agreed. _“What were you thinking?”_ We picked Our Host up and leaned him against the pillows on the couch. 

Our Host glared at Us and said, “You know what I was thinking. You’re practically a super computer, I’m sure you can figure it out.” 

We were quiet for a moment. _“Of course We know what you were trying to do, you’ll need to try harder by the way. What We don’t understand is why.”_

“ ‘Cuz I was tired of it,” he said and looked away. “I just want this whole thing to end. I can’t…I can’t stand living like this. Kill or be killed, eating bodies…I’ve murdered more people than should be possible.” He tried to steady his breath. “I’m just so sick of it.” 

_“You’re selfish,”_ We replied. _“You’re an ignorant, selfish fucking moron!”_ Our Host flinched. _“We already told you, your life is not your own anymore. It’s Ours too and you do not have the right to end it.”_

“That’s fucking bullshit!” He yelled, there was fire in his eyes. 

We growled, _“No, what’s bullshit is losing you to yourself because you can’t fucking deal with your own goddamn rules! We wouldn’t be here if you’d let Us be free! You wouldn’t be eating corpses if We could leave. But We can’t. Not because We are physically unable to do so, but because you are stopping us.”_ We were furious. _“There’s always more “research” to do someone to “protect” or the stupid lie you’ve convinced yourself is true. That’s you’re some monster, unable to walk amongst the humans. So you chain us here, just like the damn doctors and scientists had. You can’t end your life because you’re unhappy when all the reasons you’re unhappy are self-made!”_

Our Host was pressed against the couch, as far from Us as he could manage. We were glad. We wanted him to be afraid. It was rare that We expressed such strong emotions. Even rarer did We let those feelings seep into Our Host. He has felt them a few times, mostly joy during a fight, but this was unbridled anger and We felt no shame in letting him feel that. After regaining a small portion of Our composure We held out the fork and the container of food. _“We’ll discuss this later. You need to eat.”_

We could tell Our Host was about to complain but he stopped when he heard his stomach growl. He reached for the fork first and to his dismay watched it fall from his grasp. “Fuck,” Our Host muttered. 

We reached down and grabbed the fork and held it out for him again. _“You ripped through your tendons as well as your veins. Gripping things might be impossible for a while.”_

“You can fix it, right?” Our Host asked, trying to grasp the fork again. 

While it fell once more We replied, _“Maybe. It was a lot of damage.”_ We bent down and grabbed the fork. _“Open up,”_ We said and dipped the utensil into the mush. _“We’ll have to feed you.”_

“Oh no, you are no. I am not a child!”

_“Could have fooled Us.”_

We could hear his stomach growl again and We could feel the hunger as if it were our own. Our Host seemed to realize the position he was in and gave in. “I fucking hate you.” 

_“The feeling is mutual Host.”_

As soon as the food entered Our Hosts mouth We could feel him gag. We sent a command to his stomach, forcing it to stop turning and We took away his gag reflex. “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” Miles commented and swallowed another bite. 

_“We have to, or you’d vomit up everything We give you.”_

“M’by you should learn to cook better,” he replied with a grimace. 

We spoon-fed Our Host until We ran out of mush in the container. _“We’re going to go get more. Don’t do anything stupid.”_

Our Host laughed weakly, “I don’t think I could move even if I wanted to.” 

When We returned with more Our Host was sleeping. We almost wanted to let him stay like that, but his body needed more energy. There was much left to heal. We jabbed Our Host in the side. _“Wake up.”_

He groaned. “No, five more minutes.” 

We poked him again. _“Up, now.”_ We were sick of this juvenile behavior. Maybe if We weren’t so exhausted We would play along, but now We wanted him up.

When there was no response We shot a bit of adrenaline through his veins. The desired reaction was nearly instant. “Holy shit!” He sat up and stared at Us. We could tell his vision was blurry and he couldn’t focus all the way. “Don’t do that.” 

We laughed in the static and held the container out again. _“More food. You can rest after you feed.”_

He nodded and was able to grasp the fork and hold the container. We were pleased with the progress. In a few days We were sure Our Host would be completely healed. When Our Host was done and ready to fall back asleep We heard him say something quietly. “I’m scared, R. I’m really scared.” 

We didn’t know what to make of that. It wasn’t going to excuse what Our Host had done, but it did explain a few of his actions. We pulled a blanket up over his body and stood watch as he slept. We didn’t require sleep. We didn’t dream, there was no need to. As a collection of machines there would be no point. We didn’t even have to power down and charge like many other machines. Our power came from our host. As long as Our Host was breathing We would still be functioning. And We were going to make sure that that heart never stopped and those lungs never ceased moving. 

We did however; get bored while We watched over Our Host. Most of the Variants were long dead and many of the dangers the asylum once posed had passed. Mount Massive was as silent as the corpses that littered its halls. 

Our Host wasn’t like Billy. Our new host never controlled Us in his sleep. He wasn’t able to control his dreams and focus them into orders for Us. When Our Host slept it was real rest. We suspected it was because Our Host had never been treated like the others. He had never had the therapy or the Engine treatment. We were very thankful for that. 

Our Host was still young and strong for a human. He was in peak condition. The only downside We could sense from his body was the rapid deterioration of his weight. His muscle mass had stayed the same and in some areas grown, but his fat stores were near zero. It wasn’t enough to cause Us to worry, but if he continued to drop weight We would be forced to re-evaluate his diet. Our Host’s incredible condition is most likely maintained by the fact that his body recharges when he’s sleeping. It took a lot out of Our old hosts to give up sleep to control Us. 

So far the biggest threat in Mount Massive came from Our Host himself. That meant very, very, boring night patrols. 

We woke up Our Host the next day with more shredded meat. Our Host’s condition had improved greatly while he slept. He could now manifest his own sharp teeth and no longer needed to be spoon-fed. There was a flash of fire and of life in his silver irises that had been vacant for days. A pleasing sign that We thought perhaps meant that coming close to death had made him value his life a bit more. 

“This still tastes like shit,” Our Host commented. 

_“Good thing you no longer have a gag reflex.”_ We replied and sat on the desk facing Our Host. _“When are we going to leave this place?”_ We asked again.

Our Host shrugged. “Never probably. Who knows?”

_“We need to leave. You need to leave.”_

Our Host set down the container and looked into Our eyes, or where We would have eyes. “You already know what I’m going to say. We’ve had this conversation a million times R. It’s never going to change.” 

_“Well it needs to change Host.”_ We said. _“In fact, for a while there you were eager to leave. What’s different now? We need to get off this mountain, you need to reconsider and change your mind.”_

“Yeah, it’ll change, change of subject. Did you actually swear at me yesterday?” 

We looked away _. “We, well… We were very upset.”_

Our Host laughed. “You swore! Holy shit, I pissed you off enough to drive you to that.” He leaned back and licked his lips before adding, “All it took was a suicide attempt.” 

_“All?”_ We were about to get angry again, but we stopped when We saw him grinning. He was baiting Us. _“Host this is not funny.”_

“Oh yes it is, don’t deny me my small pleasures. All this time I thought you were just a machine, but you can get mad, you do feel things, and that’s nice to know.” 

We had regretted picking this human as Our host long ago, but We had also learned to accept the fact. However, it was times like these were We seriously questioned killing him and body hopping. The human got on more than one nerve We didn’t even know We had. _“So do you still feel like killing yourself?”_

Our Host’s head shot up, “Woah, a bit to the point there R.” He leaned back and folded his arms. “Yeah,” he said after a few moments of silence. “Yeah I do.” Before We could respond he added, “It’s not like my condition has changed. I’m still stuck with you, stuck in here.” 

_“Host we talked about this yesterday, we could-“_

“I know. And we can’t. We just…can’t ok? We’re something horrible that this world shouldn’t ever see.” 

_“You’re being stupid Host.”_

He laughed. “No, I’m being smart. What do you think would happen if we left here and then I attacked someone? What do you think would become of us if I lost control because I got too hungry? Do you think other people think kindly of humans that eat other humans? I’ll tell you, they imprison and kill monsters like us. At worst we’d be dissected, at best we’d be killed.” 

We were quiet for a long time before speaking. _“We are strong, We could overpower many humans. You would not be captured.”_

“I’m not willing to risk that,” Our Host said.

We were quiet again before We sat down next to him. _“Is it David? Do you miss him?”_

Our Host nodded. “Of course I miss him,” he said softly. “He was my only friend here, the only one I felt actually knew me, knew the kind of pain I felt.”Our Host leaned back against the pillows. He slowly trailed the stub of his finger against the semi soft fabric. “It’s not just him though. As I’ve said before, what I’ve become, is a monster. I realized that the other day, standing on the rain soaked podium in front of the waterlogged bodies of the men I killed. I did that. Me. The slaughter in the Prison Block hadn’t opened my eyes, not fully.” 

_“But that did?”_ We asked. There was definitely a shift in Our Host that day. A coldness seeped into his bones that wasn’t from the rain. We felt it, and We ignored it. Maybe that was Our weakness, the inability to read Our Host like We should be able to. That the coldness in his person wasn’t simple sadness but something far worse.

“Yeah, that did. R, not only have I killed out fury or instinct, but because someone _asked_ me to. We’re good at it,” he said with a trembling voice. “We’re so goddamn good at it. I said before that we could leave, but I’m having second thoughts.”

_“We told you before, Host, Murkoff will just make more of Our kind. They will rebuild, start again. They have the data, the notes, and the money. You are saving no one by keeping Us here.”_ We weren’t sure how many times We could tell him this before he would understand. This prison isn’t going to any good. Our shackles were removed by Billy temporarily so they could be placed around Our Host. We were so tired of being caged.

“If this isn’t going to save humanity as a whole, then maybe it will save whatever sorry bastard I would eat if my stomach growls a bit too loud.” Our Host seemed convinced that he was a walking killing machine. Sure, that was partly true, We made him strong, and We made him better, but he had far more control than he was giving himself credit for. 

_“You are not some wild animal. You are far too advanced for that. We do not think you need to fear yourself.”_ We could feel Our Host’s hesitation. This was good, We could use this. _“Perhaps, you could go down to the small town near here and see. Test your control. If you slip then you can return to the mountain and rot. But if you do not, then we should leave.”_

“Maybe,” he said and tried to stand. His legs were shaky and he fell almost instantly. We caught him and steadied him. “Bathroom,” he said. 

We walked with him; We took most of his weight and helped him down the hall. He was recovering, but still weak. _“You mustn’t do this again. Your body is in no shape to do this much healing.”_

“Right, next time I’ll do it correctly.” 

_“Host that’s not what We-“_

“I know.” 

We were silent after that. Our Host hobbled back to his room and went back to sleep. We stood watch and made more heated mush. Most of Our Host’s vitals were stable and he was back to producing a steady stream of red blood cells. In another day We’d check the progress of the tendons and veins and start removing Our cells and let Our Host’s cells take over more. 

It was a delicate game that We played. The balance of Our cells and Our Host’s cells could be difficult to maintain. If We produced too many of Our own cells then Our Host’s body would suffer. But if We fail to make enough of Our cells then We’ll slowly die. We weren’t sure if there were any consequences on Our Host’s body if We died. For all We knew, if We died than Our Host would be free. We are sure that would be something he would love. We certainly wouldn’t be mourned that’s for sure.

That was an odd concept for Us to grasp. The idea that someone would care if We were no longer alive. We didn’t know if We could be considered alive or not. We had a body sometimes, but We didn’t have organs, but We had cells and those cells used and expanded energy. We would have to ask Our Host about this later. 

“Shut up would you?” Our Host groaned from the couch. 

_“We are sorry.”_

He sat up. “You buzz far too much for me to get any sleep.” 

_“Sorry,”_ We apologized again. _“We were just thinking.”_

We could tell Our Host was debating opening his mouth to ask. Finally he gave in with a sigh. “What were you thinking about?” 

_“Life, death. If We are alive or not.”_

Our Host was quiet for a bit. “That’s an interesting idea.” He said. “There are lots of animals and plants who are considered alive, but only consist of one or two cells. But are you one animal or, as you so often suggest, a collection of smaller animals that think as one?” 

We answered, _“We think that the second describes Us more. We are made of tiny parts, but we all work as one.”_

Our Host nodded and regarded Us thoughtfully. “Yes, but if you break the human body down into its most simple components you’d see that we were nothing more than a bunch of cells working together.” 

_“So what you’re suggesting is that We are not “We” but “I”?”_

“What I’m suggesting is that you need to think about if each cell of yours could act independently or not. I’m not trying to turn your world upside down R. You don’t need an identity crisis to go with your host crisis.” 

We understood what Our Host was getting at. _“So, do you think We’re alive?”_

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation. “You leech away energy from me to keep your body moving and you do talk about not existing way too much for a creature who isn’t alive.” He leaned back and rolled over. “Now stop worry and thinking so much and let me get some sleep.” 

_“Yes, Host.”_ But We couldn’t quite stop thinking that quickly. We held out Our hand and watched the tiny machines swirl together to create Our form. They looked like dust, like sand, when they were clumped together outside the host’s body. It was easy to see how The Gospel of the Sand took its name. Maybe there was something to Our Host’s words. We were beginning to think that our hive mind might be breaking down, that each part is not on its own, but part of the whole. A whole that is forming inside Our Host’s mind. This was not what We were programed for. This was not Our purpose, Our mission. We were not an “I” and We will fight to keep it that way.

It had been two days before We let Our Host go further than the Administration Block. Our Host was very eager to be out and about again. Keeping him cooped up in one building was making him anxious. The weather was getting colder, it had to be nearing October, and the wind was starting to bite. We never had to deal with this problem before. It was always climate controlled in the labs. Always perfect. Our Host didn’t seem to mind though; he just zipped his tattered jacket up and pulled the collar closer. 

“R we should go this way today,” he said and pointed out past the recreational fences. 

We nodded and grabbed Our Host from under the arms and pulled him up into the air. When we were well above the fences and the few remaining trees We dropped him. We heard Our Host pull in a sharp breath and take command of the Swarm. It seemed like bedrest didn’t make a difference in his abilities to fly. By now he was well practiced and could keep pace with Us easily. 

Together we flew across the campus. We didn’t quite know where we were heading, but We were glad that Our Host felt strong enough to fly. It was the activity that took the most energy, and it was also the one activity that stripped his human disguise almost completely. Up here Our Host was something completely different. He wasn’t a human, he wasn’t a nanite collection, he was new and it was exciting. We had to admit that We were more than a little proud. Something tells Us the scientists would have been pleased with this as well. We searched Our Host’s mind for our destination but We were swiftly kicked out.

We ignored Our Host’s glare and asked, _“Where are we heading Host?”_ There was no reply. _“We know you enjoy flying but you aren’t strong enough to keep this up.”_

Finally he said, “We’re heading for the outer fence line, I need the fresh air.” 

We didn’t argue. We knew that Our Host’s mind was still unstable and that any bit of pleasure or peace would work wonders. We reached the fence line and Our Host landed a bit unsteady. We shouldered Our Hosts weight and helped him walk for a bit before he left Us to go out on his own.

This part of Mount Massive was hardly used even before the riot. We didn’t fear too much for the safety of Our Host out here. He seemed to be enjoying himself and We didn’t want to disturb that. He kept taking long breaths and floating from place to place along the fence. 

We wanted to try to push for our freedom again but We knew it would end in an argument. We didn’t want to ruin Our Host’s mood. Instead We watched over him. We felt like this was the only thing We could do. Keep watch and protect. He was moving further and further from Us, but We knew We could be at his side in a moment. There was nothing obstructing Our path out here. 

Still, Our Host motioned for Us to follow. We ascended the steps to a large watch tower. These were dotted around the perimeter of the complex; We figured they had been long abandoned. We were proven wrong when Our Host hefted one of the doors open and we were greeted with the stale smell of decay. Dead Murkoff guards were lying face down around the tower. 

“Why are they here?” Miles wondered aloud. “They don’t look like they were killed by the Variants or by you.” He added with a sidelong glance at Us. “In fact, these bodies hardly look touched. What the hell?” 

We didn’t have an answer. We knew very little about the inner workings of Mount Massive. We tried to learn much but Our progress was barred by braindead hosts and security locked doors. We examined the bodies closer and came to a grim conclusion. _“They’ve all been killed by gunshot wounds to the head.”_

Our Host stepped over a body. “Self-inflicted?” He asked. 

_“We don’t know, they’ve decomposed too far. We would assume so.”_ We crossed Our arms and almost spat, _“Humans are so stupid.”_

“For once, I am not going to argue with you.” We started up the stairs and opened the door to the main lookout room. From here we could see the whole asylum. Our Host glanced down at a particular guard. He was lying face down in a dried puddle of blood. “We are Stupid and selfish. It’s part of our charm.” 

We laughed in a crackle of static. We followed Our Host around the room. He pressed a button on a table; it seemed to be a recording of some sort. A voice spewed out of the speaker. We listened amused at the man’s frantic tone. He was alerting the other guards in all the stations of the outbreak. His panicked voice was drowned out by gunshots and screaming. 

There were several bodies in this room. All of them victims of their own guns. _“Humans are foolish,”_ We said again when the recording cut. _“They did not even try to live.”_

Our Host glanced down at the same fallen security guard again. “Well,” he started, his eyes moving to the window. “They are an awful long ways out. When they heard the news of how far down the shitter everything went…well better a bullet to the head than a knife to the throat.” Our Host grimaced. “Or worse,” he said. “The Variants weren’t exactly ending the lives of the guards and doctors quickly.” 

We politely disagreed with the statement. A fighting chance should never be wasted, but We didn’t press anything further. We caught Our Host staring at the guard once more. _“He’s quite dead, Host, We assure you.”_

“Yeah,” he mumbled. 

Our host had seen many bodies over the course of their stay at Mount Massive; this one shouldn’t be bothering him anymore than the others. _“Are you hungry? Don’t eat these ones, they are foul.”_

“No I’m, well yeah, I’m always hungry. But I’m no looking for food right now.” 

We were still confused but We didn’t press anything. We drifted to the window and looked out over Our territory. More than anything We wished to go beyond those borders and see the rest of the world. We were so tired of being chained up. The trees outside were changing colors, something We learned was due to the seasons. This one was called “fall”. It was all so fascinating. Soon there would be frozen water covering the ground, snow, as it was called. We were very excited to experience things for Ourself instead of through the memories of our hosts. Maybe it would be a good time to bring up leaving again. Our Host was in a decent mood; maybe he’d be more agreeable. 

But before We said anything We wanted to get a better idea of how Our Host was feeling. Something was wrong though, We couldn’t get a read on Our Host’s mind. He was talking before so We hadn’t caught on to Our Host’s blocking Us out of his mind. _“Host?”_ We asked while sending gentle probes into his brain. 

“What?” He said a bit irritated. “Stay out of my head, you don’t belong in there.” 

This argument again, We would sigh if We could. We sent a sharp wave of static to Our Host. _“We live there, Host. We have every right-“_

“Every right? You don’t have shit here in my mind.” He stopped and steadied himself. He took a few breaths and said, “That’s…that’s not true. I know that your cells and your sense of self are stored in there. At least leave my part alone. Privacy is a rare thing these days.” 

We nodded understanding. _“It just worries Us. You’re not stable…”_

Our Host laughed. “And I was before?” 

_“Yes, to an extent.”_ We shrugged. _“Humans are still new to Us.”_

“Really? And you’ve been living inside them for sixty odd years and we’re new?” 

_“Yes, Host. Most others that We’ve resided in have been braindead or had bodies that gave out much too soon. This is the first real look at the world We’ve gotten. You’ve shown Us so much, but there is still so much out there yet.”_ We placed a hand on the glass and stared out over the asylum. _“What’s out there Host? How big is the world?”_ We wanted, no needed to know. We had to be free, and Our Host had to give Us the chance. He just had to.

Our Host didn’t answer any of Our questions, We didn’t really expect him to. However, the sound of a gun being unloaded and loaded in the tower caught Us off guard. _“Host?”_ We turned around to see him standing beside the guard he had been eying since they entered the room. There was a gun against his head and determination in his eyes. 

We didn’t have time to think, only act. Within seconds Our Host would be dead, but it only took milliseconds for Us to make a move.

Our Host’s arm swung to his side and the gun clattered to the floor. A voice came from Our Host’s mouth. It was not fully his, nor was it Ours, it was something in-between. “Humans are so stupid,” it said. “So very, very, stupid.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, this chapter...man this chapter.  
> So, this chapter was actually written about 2 years ago, when I first started writing this story. I had pretty much the whole plot done in my head, and to save time, I thought I'd write some chapters in advance in my notebook so I could just type them up when I got to them on the computer document. Needless to say, that idea didn't work out too much.  
> This chapter was edited and revised so many times and I'm not even sure if it's good.   
> Did the point of view switch and the change in person work? Was the breakdown believable or did it just seem odd and rushed? I've been staring at it for so long I just can't tell.
> 
> Anyways, enough about that. So, here's an R chapter. That's pretty cool. Originally this was from Miles' point of view again, like the other chapters, but I thought R would be a more fitting character to have describe some of this. I don't know if there will be any other R chapters in the future, I guess I'll have to see how this one does.  
> Next up should be a Waylon chapter, then one or two more from Miles and we're done with this part of the story!   
> Thanks for reading, and as always, you're comments and opinions are really valuable to me!
> 
> PS: SO the first issue of the comic is out right??? And it's pretty damn good. This is yet another reminder, that as more canon content comes out from Red Barrels, the comic, the second game, and some of their tweets, I will not be using any of it in this story. I might steal some more Murkoff company employee names and the info about how the company is structured, but as far as plot stuff goes? I'm not making any additions to fit with the new canon. It would be too much work to dismantle everything I've put together to fit in new characters or plot points.


	14. VIRALeaks

He was on his fourth loop around the block when his pants pocket vibrated. Waylon pulled out his cell phone and answered. “Waylon? Oh thank god, where are you?”

A quick glance at a street sign allowed him to reply, “The corner of Harrison Avenue and West Seventeenth Street, heading home, why?” 

He could hear Lisa take a few deep breaths on the other line. For once, he wasn’t the worried one. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologized. “I got home with the kids and didn’t see you home, there was no note, and the Jeep was still here. I feared the worst.” 

The sigh that escaped his mouth was too quiet for his wife to hear. Waylon regretted sharing what had happened at Mount Massive with Lisa ever since he opened the file. His burdens were now hers and he didn’t like it, not one tiny bit. “I should have left a message, or texted you,” Waylon said. “I was just taking a walk, trying to get strength back in my leg.” And that was true, for the most part. He was very worried about his leg, now more than ever. It still hurt after being used for more than a half hour, and his limp was no less severe. But he also needed to get out of the house and clear his head. When he stayed cooped in there, his thoughts would run wild. Even the buzzing returned. 

The revelation that Murkoff could come for him any day wasn’t a particularly comforting one, it affected Lisa the most. She seemed to always be on edge, like if she blinked Waylon could be taken before her eyes opened again. It was all the more reason why Waylon was taking these walks. He needed his leg to be stronger; he needed his head to stop pounding. The day that Murkoff came knocking could be very close. “Waylon? Waylon are you there?” 

“Yes, sorry, sorry, just lost in thought.” 

“Well…hurry home ok? I’ll have dinner cooking.” 

Waylon desperately wished he could find a way to calm his wife’s worry without lying. There was one thing that could help them, they both knew what it was, but Waylon was too hesitant, too scared, to go through with it. He still had all the video footage of his stay at Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane. They both knew it would be enough to light a fire under Murkoff that would be so strong even their money would have problems putting it out. But releasing that kind of footage would come at a huge risk for Waylon and his family; he knew that much for sure.

But as the days flew by, he began to wonder if his family wasn’t already under the same amount of danger. Murkoff knew he escaped, they’d been blocking every attempt he made at securing another job, and he was certain they had his recent medical treatment on file. At first he figured he could fool the company for a bit, and that the resumes and background checks were from older applications companies were just now getting around to. It was no secret that Waylon took the job at Mount Massive because he desperately needed the money. Murkoff knew the Parks were in considerable debt and that Waylon needed this job. So the constant trickle of job applications would seem normal for a while. But when they started taking stock of their remaining employees, he was sure his name would come up, and he was also certain his stay at the local hospital would come up as well. They either knew, or would know he escaped very soon. Lisa had every right to be paranoid.

He thought about playing dumb, but he was their little whistleblower and they wouldn’t let him get away by promising not to say anything. He knew too much, that was a simple fact. Last week he’d agreed with Lisa, he had to release to the footage, he had to hurt them before they could hurt him. But he wondered if it would be enough. Surely they’d be too busy fighting legal battles to worry about one escaped temporary employee. It would buy them the time to seek witness protection, jump states, or even the country if they needed to. 

All he had to do was release the footage. 

So why was he hesitating? 

The main reason was that he still thought he could do this anonymously. He could cut his name from the videos, erase his existence and send the files off to some news site or reporter and pray they believed the story. But at the same time, his thoughts drifted to the red Jeep in his garage and the innocent reporter he had already doomed. Sure, he could try to be an anonymous whistleblower again, but would he be sacrificing another in his place? Could he sleep with that knowledge? 

He wasn’t sure.

\--- 

Waylon Park spent a lot of time staring at his reflection in the rearview mirror of the Jeep. There was something about that Jeep, that life, the memories it held and the ones that were stolen away that drew Waylon to it. His blood still stained the driver’s seat and splattered on the floor. However, it took him a long time to muster up the courage to step back inside and clean off the steering wheel and dash. Just opening the door made his heart heavy, like a lead blanket had been tossed over him.

The red Jeep sat in his garage and haunted his thoughts like a ghost. It was real, solid proof of his actions. It was a direct effect of events he caused, events he put into motion. With that one email he changed the lives of several people. Murkoff might have sealed their own fates by starting Project Walrider and using the patients they did. And he wasn’t going to blame himself for their mistakes. But he was responsible for the deaths of others, both before and during the riot.

His eyes drifted downward from his reflection and landed on the press pass still dangling from the rearview mirror. The printed words stared accusingly at him. Miles Upshur, he read. Miles Upshur, a man he had never met, yet killed. Miles Upshur, who sat in the very seat that he was in at this moment. Miles Upshur whose money he used to buy his family milk and bread. Miles Upshur, who soul probably haunts the halls of Mount Massive along with all the other sorry bastards who died bloody and screaming that night. Miles Upshur. 

He had pumped that name into Google before. Before he sent out his email, before he even obtained the unlisted laptop. Waylon was looking for potential journalists to contact. There was a good chance he’d only have one opportunity to reach out; he wanted to make sure that the ones he did communicate with would be willing to investigate. Of course the local Colorado journalists weren’t up to Waylon’s standards. The biggest thing one of them reported on was an environmental disaster, someone had been paying off local Department of Natural Resource officials in an attempt to hide illegal waste dumps.

That wasn’t exactly on the same level as exposing mass human rights exploitations by a multi-billion dollar corporation. He’d need someone who would be qualified for that type of task. Someone who had worked similar cases, or had powerful resources. He broadened his search and came across a few other names, there was a man named Julian up in Washington State, he seemed pretty decent. A strong history in journalism and activism, multiple cases under his belt, including several high profile fraud and extortion cases that made national headlines. Then there was a woman down in California that dealt with human resource cases and exposed several businesses that were using outsourced slave labor for cheap productions, her name was Claire, but she wasn’t what he was looking for either. He passed up the Langermanns, a husband and wife duo. Their website said they were working a case in Arizona and Waylon assumed they’d be too busy for his lead. 

There were a few he put on a maybe list, they were better than nothing but he really needed someone amazing. That’s when he edited his search to include journalists that had had run ins with Murkoff before. The first name that popped up was Miles Upshur. He had written multiple articles exposing Murkoff and their sister companies in various scandals. From a corporate created water crises to human trafficking allegations and business monopolies this man had them covered. A few critics of his work called him obsessed and claimed he had a vendetta against the corporation. That was more than fine with Waylon. He found Miles’ work email attached at the end of an article he posted and decided right there that that was his man. 

He chose him and doomed him all in one night. Of course, Waylon understood that Miles could have declined, he could have said no, he could have pulled up to the asylum seen the private security trucks and bailed. But at the same time, after reading about his history with the company and the articles the man wrote, he knew deep down, that Miles couldn’t have said no. This was something he was going to look into no matter what. It was just what he did.

Waylon exited the Jeep and wandered into the living room. Lisa wouldn’t be home with the boys for a few hours, which gave him too much alone time for his liking. He sat down on the couch and pulled his computer onto his lap. First he checked his email; four new rejections awaited him in his inbox. Each one polite and brief, “Sorry we are not looking for someone of your history” or “We do not think you would be a good fit for our team, considering your past work experience.” He sighed and closed the tab; instead he brought up google and typed the name that had burned itself into his mind, Miles Upshur. 

His eyes were drawn to something; apparently Miles kept a blog, two of them, a personal one and a professional one. He also seemed to own and operate his own news site. He had a long list of articles he had written. Some on mundane events like building openings, marathon coverages, sporting events, but others were far more interesting. It seemed like he really hit his stride after coming home from the war. His content shifted to include more corporate and government exploits. Miles seemed to be the type of person who was not afraid to light fires under people’s asses nor the kind of person who shied away from putting himself in danger. 

He was the complete opposite of Waylon, who was terrified of any attention, good or bad. His blog revealed that he was a person with a strong set of morals and a deep sense of justice. The man seemed cynical but hopeful that the world could change. He saw the flaws, the dangers, the dirt and scum, but he saw the beauty too. Tears welled up in his eyes when he read through some of this man’s work. Clearly this was someone who was good at heart. And now that person was dead and gone. 

The last post on his personal blog was from several weeks ago. 

September 15th, 2013

This is it guys, the story you’ve all been waiting for. If this anonymous tip I just got is legitimate then… Well, you’ll see. Murkoff is going to be in deep shit after this. And all it’ll cost me is a few tanks of gas and a motel room. Obviously a case like this isn’t going to write itself, and I’ll need a few weeks for travel, investigation time, and all the back research to make sure my own ass is covered. So don’t expect anything soon. But if this is real, if this is true, then all my hard work is going to pay off. I’ll keep you posted on any updates, right now, I’m off to Colorado.

-Miles Upshur 

It appeared to be cross posted on his professional blog as well, but there were no further updates on his website. Waylon knew what the tip was; he was the one who sent it. Upshur was ready and willing to follow any dirt trail that lead to Murkoff. That was clear and Waylon felt horrible. But as he paged through Miles’ work a hard chunk of determination formed within him. If this man was willing to risk it all to expose the darkness, then so was Waylon. If anything, he’d finish what Miles had started. He’d do it to honor him, and to see this story through to the end. Waylon had decided to go to someone and release the footage.

But the next question was who?

Upshur, and most other private investigative journalists all used their own websites, or wrote for a larger news site, so he couldn’t exactly dump everything on them. What was in those files was horrifying to say the least, and he didn’t think some unprepared intern or journalist should be forced to view them. He had to find something else, something secure.

It was back to Google. Information leaks weren’t new; people had been leaking classified information since the term “classified information” had been invented. People used to blab to other people, write anonymous columns in the paper, but now, with the advent of the internet, things could go much faster. There were several sites dedicated to leaking and preserving information that wasn’t meant for the public eye. He just had to find the most reliable one. 

After over an hour of research he settled on a likely candidate, VIRALeaks. They were responsible for several high profile whistleblowers and numerous document exposures. Sure, some of the stuff they posted was near click bait levels of petty; some of it was about celebrities, leaked pictures, emails or texts from the rich and famous. But the majority of the site held records and accounts of some of the biggest scandals he’d read about. This was encouraging, they seemed to have a large team with the experience needed to make something like this go viral, shit it was even in their name.

He sent them an email, this time he wasn’t anonymous. If they wanted to confirm his credibility they could. Waylon had searched his own name a few times, to see what would pop up. One of the first hits was a public list of temporary workers for the Murkoff Corporation. It had become standard practice for large firms to list their employees, especially after the reveal of slave labor factories and the stigma of outsourcing. If you could prove you hired and used American workers in your company you’d have a huge leg up on your competition. Made in the USA was a prideful mark, telling that you, as a business, were willing to spend the extra money, go the extra mile, and provide jobs and wages to your fellow American. And what kind of genuine, humane corporation would want to sully their name? Certainly not Murkoff. Their employee roster was made public and searchable for anyone interested, even their janitorial staff and temp workers were listed. This would go a long way in proving that Waylon wasn’t messing around.

Of course, he could have just picked the name from random, but people who threaten to leak the kind of information that Waylon had didn’t joke around. This wasn’t a clickbait article, this wasn’t a prank. He hoped the seriousness of his email was conveyed and they wouldn’t simply look it over. He instructed the workers at VIRALeaks to not contact Murkoff directly, he wasn’t sure if that needed to be said, he hoped they would be smarter than that. He had given them the basic rundown of his situation, that he blew the whistle once before and was caught, so even bringing up his name to a secretary could mean Murkoff goons showing up at his front doorstep. 

The rest of the day passed in an uneasy state of anxious waiting. He cleaned the living room again, swept the kitchen floor and refolded every towel in the closet. Waylon wasn’t good at waiting. Finally Lisa came home with the boys. They of course were full of energy and ran out back to play while Lisa collapsed on the couch. 

“I did it,” Waylon said after a moment of silence, broken only by the shouting voices of their sons playing outside. 

“Did what?” Lisa said, sitting up a bit straighter. “A job? Did you find a job?”

“No, I contacted someone about my footage. About releasing it to the public.” 

Her eyebrow raised. “Really? Who?” 

“A place called VIRALeaks. They’ve handled cases similar to mine before, I figured they were my best bet so nobody else gets hurt.” 

“You’ve been thinking about him, haven’t you?” 

“It’s hard not to,” Waylon admitted. “I feel guilty for what happened.” 

“Don’t, you didn’t force him there.” 

“I know,” Waylon smiled. “I know. I’m moving past it.” His expression hardened. “This could be it Lisa. If they reply and take my case things could messy. We might have to move, we might have to change our names, enter witness protection. Murkoff owns over half the world, and eyes could be on us from anywhere.” 

“That’s not going to help my paranoia Way.” 

He sighed and sunk into the couch beside her. “Sorry.”

“It’s the right thing to do,” Lisa said eventually. “I thought so from the moment I finished that video. What happened to you, what happened to those innocent people…it needs to be exposed. It needs to be blown open for the world to see. They can’t get away with what happened.” 

Waylon agreed. “It can’t happen again. There can never be another Mount Massive.” 

Lisa seemed surprised. “You really think they’d try again?” 

“Of course,” Waylon said simply. “There was money to be made with Project Walrider. Even I could see that. They might not try it again with the mentally disturbed, maybe they’ll target the homeless, or maybe it won’t even be on American soil, but they’ll try again.” He thought about the expansive laboratories under the old asylum. “The amount of money and resources they poured into that facility guarantee it. Not all the scientists died that day, they still have their data and they’ll try again.” 

“But so much went wrong…” Lisa trailed off, remembering the horrible gore that littered the halls and walls of the asylum. 

“Then they’ll learn from their mistakes. Hire the best and the brightest, make new containment procedures, better shielding. Maybe it wouldn’t start up for a few years, maybe it’ll take them a while to get to the point where a critical failure wouldn’t be possible again, but that time would come. And I don’t think I want to live in a world where any military had access to something like Walrider.” 

“Would Murkoff sell it? I mean to someone other than the US?” 

He nodded. “Definitely. To the highest bidder. You saw what that monster can do, and that was just the prototype. Think about the destruction that could be achieved with an army of them. World chaos, sold to the deepest pockets.” Waylon shuddered at the thought.

His phone vibrated on the table in front of them, causing both adults to jump. Waylon awkwardly leaned forward and grabbed his cell. The number was unknown and Waylon answered hesitantly. “Hello?” 

“Waylon Park?” 

“This is. Who am I speaking to?” 

“My name is Julian, and I’m a representative from VIRALeaks, I believe you sent me a very interesting email.” 

“I…I did. What did you think? Is it something your site would be interested in?” 

“I think we need to have a very important talk, in person. Are you still in the Colorado area?” 

“I am.” 

“Good. If you could please send us just a sample of the footage you claim to possess and I will relay an address you can meet me at as soon as you are able. If you’re telling the truth Mr. Park, then we will have something big to show the world.” 

“Understood. I won’t send the whole thing, just a clip.” 

“That’s all I’m asking.” 

The man on the other end hung and Waylon stared at his phone in shock for a few minutes. “Was that them?” 

“I think so,” Waylon said. He went through the company website again and found the name of the staff member that called him. His credentials checked out. Julian…of no relation to the Julian he thought about emailing weeks ago. This man wasn’t even an American citizen; he was working in the US under a permit. A risky thing, Waylon thought, when your business was exposing the very people who could get you deported. Waylon realized that when your work is mostly online it doesn’t matter where you’re based. You could work from anywhere and send your feelers out to gather any information you could find.

He sent him an email with an attached file, the first three clips on his camera melded into one. It contained roughly twenty minutes of footage. Most of it was him in the Engine Therapy room, with the last bit the start of the riot. Waylon assumed that would be more than enough to prove his point. The rest could wait. 

Like clockwork, a reply appeared in his inbox. The man on the other end hardly paused to debate before sending the confirmation. There was a time, an address, and the request to bring everything he had. 

“Lisa? I’m going to need you to drive me to this location in two days, if you can.” 

“What’s going on Way?” 

“VIRALeaks has agreed to look at my case. However, they want to meet in person and I don’t think I’m strong enough to drive myself there and back alone. Would you be able to call into work? Get a sitter for the boys?” 

“Yes,” she answered without hesitation. “I’ll make the arrangements now. How far away?” 

Waylon was already plugging the address into Google Maps. “About two hours, it’s an office building in Denver.” He wasn’t surprised, it was the capital city. He was secretly hoping they’d meet somewhere closer or somewhere with less people, like Colorado Springs. “We can round trip it if the meeting doesn’t take too long. There’s not much doubt in my mind that they’ll want what I have. It’s just a matter of deciding if they’re the right choice.” 

“If they weren’t, you wouldn’t have contacted them to begin with,” Lisa said. “I know you, and I know you already spent hours on this.” 

“Yeah…” Waylon looked at the zip folder on his computer and clenched his fists around his jeans. 

\---

Fall was in full effect in the mountains of Colorado. Even dressed properly in a jacket the wind from the open window was chilling. Most of the trees in this part of the state were conifers, meaning there wasn’t the spectacular color change that people with deciduous forests got to look forward to every autumn. The only change in scenery came with the snow that would pile onto the ground from the mountains. 

The car ride was filled with anxious tension between the Parks. Waylon was nervous about the meeting, about sharing with a complete stranger the horrors of Mount Massive and the trauma he went through, and Lisa was focused on her husband. She could tell that this wasn’t going to be easy for him. He was hardly able to go grocery shopping, and here they were, speeding towards the capital city to expose a corporation that nearly owned the world. “Waylon,” Lisa said, taking her eyes off of the straight road in front of them. “Are you ok with this?” 

“With what?” 

“With putting yourself out into the public like this? The world is going to know what happened to you.” 

“The world won’t know a thing about me,” Waylon answered, his eyes looking out over the flat land that extended out until it crashed into the mountains that lined the horizon. “I edited myself out of most of the footage,” he explained. “Not my body, but my name, my identity. No one will know it was me, even my voice, when used, was too hoarse and broken to be recognizable. The whole reason I’m using VIRALeaks is so that I can stay as anonymous as possible.I will refuse the deal if my name is attached to this.” 

“Should we still expect to move?” 

“Yes,” Waylon tore his eyes from the passing trees and turned his attention to his wife. “Just because the world won’t know it was me, Murkoff will. They’ll know exactly who patient twenty-five thirty-six is. They’ll know it was me. They already know I survived, they just don’t know I have any evidence of their operations. As of right now, they don’t realize that I pose a threat to their company. We’ll be safe, for now.” 

Lisa nodded and brought her focus back to the road. She turned on the radio and lost herself to the music. Waylon only heard static. 

They reached Denver a few hours before Waylon’s meeting. They found a parking ramp close by the office building and walked around the city, sightseeing for a bit. Lisa knew she’d have more time to herself later; the meeting was only between Waylon and the representative from VIRALeaks. They had to pause frequently and sit down, as her husband’s leg would act up and force him to rest. It was getting worse, she knew that much. Her only hope was that some settlement money might come their way after this was all over. At the very least, maybe they could finally find stable work and afford to get a second opinion on it.

The Parks picked a sandwich shop for lunch, but Waylon was far too anxious to consider eating. Just looking at food made his stomach churn and he didn’t want to throw up during the meeting. He forced himself to drink a bottle of water and nibbled on some chips while he watched the hands on his watch move slowly across the face. His left leg bounced up and down and his free hand had a white knuckle grip on the bag containing his laptop. 

Finally the time for the meeting arrived and Waylon followed the instructions on the email. He entered the lobby of the office building and was immediately greeted by a man in a dark suit. His first instinct was to flee, to run away from the mysterious stranger dressed like a corporate asshole. But his forced himself to limp forward and extend a hand. “Waylon Park,” he said, his voice filled with false bravery. “You must be Julian.” 

“I am indeed. Come with me, I have a room on the fifth floor.” 

Waylon followed the man, to an elevator and hesitated. Enclosed spaces were high on his anxiety list and being alone with a stranger in one was not something he wanted to do. But pain shot up his right leg and forced him into the elevator with the man. He knew he couldn’t make it up five flights of stairs, not in his condition. He was silent for most of the ride up. So was Julian. Over the phone Waylon could detect a slight Australian accent, which seemed thicker in person. His head was shaved bald and a strong jawline and nose dominated his features. For a journalist, he seemed like the kind of person who could fuck you up in multiple ways, not someone he wanted to piss off. And definitely not what he thought of first, given the man’s occupation.

There was a brief moment of panic, that maybe this man wasn’t from VIRALeaks and maybe he was instead a Murkoff hired gun, sent to retrieve him after he was outed by VIRALeaks. It was possible, that was for sure. He was being lead alone, by a strong looking individual to an isolated room in a skyscraper. A quick glance around revealed limited surveillance and Waylon was already checking for the nearest escape routes. If he could get to the elevator before the man he might have a chance, but there’s no way the slow machine could descend faster than a human running down stairs. Either Julian would reach a lower floor and call the elevator or the doors would open in the lobby and Waylon would be greeted by him. Sprinting down the stairs was impossible, he already knew his bad leg would fold and he’d crumple to the floor. There didn’t seem to be any other people on this floor either, the other office rooms looked dark and vacant. The tension grew.

“Relax Mr. Park, I can already tell your mind is racing,” he tried a smile to seem non-threatening, but it was less than effective. “Not that I blame you. From what you sent me, you have one hell of a story to share and more than enough reasons to jump at the nearest shadow.” 

Waylon swallowed, his dry mouth failing to wet his drying throat. Julian paused at a door and produced a key; he opened the door and motioned for Waylon to enter. “This is a temporary office space we use, we try to have one space like this rented out per state, though we make exceptions for low population states or low activity areas. For example, setting up in both North and South Dakota would be a waste of money, it would be better to use South Dakota, or just route everyone to the Minnesota headquarters.”

Waylon spotted a small nameplate by the door, the name VIRALeaks, was etched into the fake gold plate. “Isn’t it dumb to advertise your location like that?” Waylon asked, pointing at the nameplate. 

“No, not necessarily. We are a legitimate business with a homepage and we pay taxes like everyone else. If you dig deep enough and hard enough you can uncover all of our staff members. Our work may include airing out everyone’s dirty laundry, and yes that can be dangerous, but all of our staff accepted that risk when signing on. So what’s the harm of having these temporary meeting rooms? We don’t station people here around the clock; they are strictly for meeting clients.” 

“I see,” Waylon said and sat down at the table. Julian closed the door behind him. He kept the meeting room dark, but Waylon could spot a desk pushed against one side, a table on the other with a coffee maker and some sugar, and a whiteboard took up the entire wall behind him. The long table he sat at was lined with rolling chairs; it looked like any normal office space.

“Let’s get down to business Mr. Park, the reason you requested our services. You have something you’d like to expose, something that could put the future of a very powerful, very influential corporation into jeopardy.” Waylon nodded. “We take these sorts of allegations very seriously, and we personally meet with every potential client to make sure the footage or documents we are releasing are the real deal. A faked story could ruin us, as much as it could ruin an individual or company.” He sat down opposite Waylon and said, “So before we go any further I’d like to see the full extent of what we will be uploading to the site.” 

“Ok,” Waylon said, his voice faltering for a second. “But I have to warn you, it’s long, and it’s graphic.” 

This cut together version that Waylon provided showed nearly everything. Including his experience with Eddie Gluskin, the one thing he wouldn’t let Lisa watch. When he heard the footage near the end he said, “The only things I’ve personally cut from the footage were the bits at the start that revealed my name. Everything else is authentic and real. This hell really did happen.” Waylon waited for a reply from Julian, his face a mystery in the dark room.

“This is…” he cleared his throat. “This is stunning, appalling Mr. Park.” Waylon expected more of a reaction from the man. Perhaps what happened to him isn’t all that uncommon. Maybe in his line of work he sees horrors like this all the time. If that were true, maybe the world was too fucked up to be saved and some other money hungry company would just take Murkoff’s place.

“It’s all true,” Waylon said again. He pulled up his right pant leg to expose the wound on his leg; he also lifted his shirt and showed Julian the scarring, stitched up stab wound from Jeremy Blaire. “I swear to whatever god you need me to swear to that it’s all true.” He took the laptop back Julian and continued. “Murkoff was creating a weapon, they were harming people, and I don’t care if they were criminals, nobody deserves what they did. The torture they put those men through, the machines, the steroids, the tests, the abuse, they deserved none of it. And I don’t want them to ever have the chance at doing this again.” 

Julian nodded and said, “I understand. Give me a moment to make a few calls. I’ll personally accept this case; I just need to inform some people back at our main headquarters. As a computer guy, you must understand that the server load this story will create will be immense. We’ll need to prepare, and you’ll need to sign some paperwork.

“Ok, right, yes I understand. One thing though, I stay anonymous. You cut me out of everything. I don’t want my name mentioned anywhere. That’s the reason I came to you.” 

“That’s a given, and a deal. We will do everything in our power to cover your tracks, you have my word.” Julian turned away and pulled out a phone. He made a few quick calls, and one, considerably longer one. Waylon waited patiently. Finally when Julian hung up he pulled a folder out of a briefcase Waylon hadn’t even noticed and slid some paperwork towards him.

“These documents here state in writing that what you are giving us to upload is true and factual. They hold you, not us, accountable for any damages to persons or corporations if the footage or documents are found to be falsified. It’s our form of protection, since personal vendettas often find their way to us.” 

Waylon didn’t hesitate in signing his name. He knew what he had was real, there was no fear. 

“This next set gives us permission to use your footage on our website, and nowhere else. It will stay on our servers and unless you say so, will not be available for download by any third parties. I can assure you our servers are secure and maintained daily.” Again, Waylon signed his name.

“This one is our agreement to leave you and your family out of any documents we might write or post on our site. It is our promise to you that your footage will not be spun or altered to fit an outside agenda and it will remain untouched in our hands. VIRALeaks is committed to spreading the truth and uncovering what others have paid good money to keep hidden. We will assist you and your family in the coming fallout. Murkoff is a dangerous organization, but we have confidence in what we do.” The document was signed by Julian and handed over Waylon. 

Next he uploaded the footage to their servers. The file didn’t take long, even though its size was nothing to laugh at. Hours of footage sat in that zip folder. WALRIDER_PROJECT.zip contained everything he had, and everything he hoped he’d need to bring down Murkoff. His hand hesitated and hovered over the key to upload the file.

Julian caught this and said, “You press that button, there's no going back, Mr. Park. There's enough hard evidence in that video file to make a world of shit for our friends at Murkoff. You got out of Mount Massive alive, and we've done everything in our power to cover your tracks, but our enemies are twitchy and malicious corporate paranoiacs with resources you're too moral to imagine.” And Waylon didn’t disagree with that statement. Before he took this job he didn’t think things like what he experienced happened. He didn’t think anything like that could happen.

Julian continued, “You won't be the only target. Anyone you care about, your wife, your children, they'll be nothing to Murkoff but ways to hurt you. I need you to understand the bridge you're crossing here. You will do irrevocable damage to the company; you might even get close to something like justice. But, once you click upload, your life is over. Everyone you love is fucked. But it's the right thing to do. Is hurting Murkoff worth that much to you?" 

Waylon looked the man in the eyes. He already signed the paperwork, he already understood the risks. VIRALeaks would protect his identity but chances were high that Murkoff would come for them. He only prayed the proper authorities would get to the company before they got to him. VIRALeaks would provide the Parks with resources to try to weather through this, but even Waylon knew that might not be enough. When he pressed that button, his life as Waylon Park would be over; he’d have to become someone else for the rest of his life. But when he thought about it, the moment they hooked him up to the Engine Therapy, the moment they injected him with a slurry of steroids and chemicals his life was already over.

This wasn’t going to change anything. 

He pressed the button and closed the laptop. 

Waylon Park never considered himself a hero. Not when he sent the original email that doomed Miles Upshur, not when escaped Mount Massive, and certainly not when he limped to the car where his wife waited for him after officially leaking the footage he captured. He wasn’t a hero, that just wasn’t for him. But he did something that day. He started another chain reaction that would affect those closest to him and hundreds, if not thousands of strangers. Once again, with the click of a button Waylon both doomed and saved himself. 

He slid into the car wordlessly and Lisa drove away. They left Denver and its skyline, heading back home. The sun was shining bright in the blue sky, a promise of better days to come, but Waylon was too preoccupied with his thoughts to see the storm clouds looming behind them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter done and out of the way, hell yeah.  
> This one might seem a bit boring compared to the others, but I deemed it necessary to write down the events before Waylon uploaded the file at the end of Whistleblower. Also if you're sharp you'll notice the last thing Julian says was actually ripped from the game itself, sorry Red Barrels, but sometimes I gotta use your shit. The only thing I edited from the original dialogue was changing child to children, since Waylon has two sons.  
> Other fun things to note:  
> The Julian that works for VIRALeaks isn't the same Julian Miles mentions or is in Miles' New Years video. They are different people, I only realized after creating Julian as a character and name dropping him that the representative from VIRALeaks was also named Julian.  
> The streets that Waylon mentions at the start of the chapter are real streets in Leadville that I looked up.  
> While doing research for this chapter I realized that Red Barrels can't seem to set a solid timeline for this game, with references suggesting the game takes place in the year 2019, 2013 and 2010. I decided on 2013, the year dated in Waylon's email and the year that lines up best Billy's age on documents and in notes. 
> 
> As some of you might also have noticed, I changed the chapter to say 14/15. I can confidently say that there is only one more slightly long Miles point of view chapter to go before the end of this part of the story.  
> A reminder, Survivors is a three part story, this is just the end of part one. A rough projection of updates are as follows, the last chapter of The Aftermath of Mount Massive will be posted this month. The rest of November, which is also NaNoWriMo, will be spent doing the full outline for part two, The Long Road, as well as time to work on my actual novel. Part Two should start updating in either December or January. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and leaving me such wonderful comments. You all mean a lot to me, and give me the motivation to keep on going. I wouldn't be writing this monster without all of you.  
> I'll be seeing you all again in the next update.


	15. The Last Fuck You to Mount Massive

> “Hey David, how are ya’ doing buddy?” The camera shows a makeshift grave at the base of a tree. “I didn’t forget my promise, I’m going to contact your wife and family, I’m going to let them know you didn’t forget them, that you didn’t abandon them. I’m going to tell them you were a good man, a hell of a man, and a friend unlike any other.” There’s a short, choppy laugh. “After all, you have to be something amazing to befriend a monster like me. Listen…David; I almost did something stupid the other day. I almost took a one way trip to join you. R stopped me, twice. I don’t know what I was thinking; honestly I wish you were still here. Maybe you would have knocked some sense into me. I was just…tired I guess. But being tired doesn’t excuse what I tried to do. And maybe I was a little afraid? You were never afraid of me, not really. The first few times we met you seemed shocked, maybe surprised, but you were never afraid. Not even when I almost killed you that one time.” More laughing can be heard. “God what I would give to bring you back. Death is truly final; I guess we both learned that. I just hope you’re finally at peace, where you are. You can’t tell your story, but I will. I’ll tell the whole goddamn world.” The camera pans up and away from the grave and focuses on the sky. “I miss you David. A whole fucking lot.” Transcription from the audio visual log of Miles Upshur, Mount Massive Asylum for the Criminally Insane. October 20, 2013. 

 

“You don’t have to follow me R, it’s ok.” 

The static around Miles crackled in annoyance as R answered, _“We do not think so.”_

Miles sighed. “I’m good, I’m fine, I like life again, really, I promise.” 

If R had eyes to roll he would. _“Somehow your word doesn’t mean as much anymore.”_ He followed Miles through the halls of the Administration Block and watched as his host sat on the stairway rail and slid down. _“If Our reaction time had been just a second slower you’d be splattered on a wall and We’d be dead.”_

“You don’t know that for sure,” Miles said and hopped over a recently deceased body. He made a mental note to come back and remove it from the main hall. The asylum was beginning to acquire a scent that wasn’t all that pleasant. 

_“Yes, We do. We’ve sampled the remaining survivors here, just in case something happened to you, and We’ve learned that none of them have the capacity to host Us like you do. If you die that’s the end for Us.”_

“Wow, body shopping and you didn’t even tell me, rude.” 

The static laughed. _“Call it insurance. A backup plan. We’re not as dumb as you perhaps think.”_

Miles stopped and looked back at the nanite monster following just a few steps behind. “I don’t think you’re dumb, quite the opposite. I think you’re smart. Wickedly smart and growing smarter. It’s intimidating to say the least.” 

They entered another hallway and Miles took off in a sprint. He could feel the nanites in his body shift under his control and he dug a hand fresh with claws into the wall and pulled himself up. He was able to run along the wall for a few feet before touching back down on the ground. “Why do they call you the Walrider? We don’t seem very adept at riding on walls.” 

_“We do not know where the name came from. Perhaps you are taking it far too literally. However,”_ R added, _“That is a useful trick. You should hone that skill a little more. It will prove useful in more urban areas and spaces where full flight is impractical.”_

“It is kinda fun,” Miles admitted. He pushed open a set of double doors into a breakroom was seldom used by Murkoff staff given its rundown appearance. Well, more rundown than average. Miles had taken to using the more out of the way spaces of his territory, more and more Variants had moved in and he was starting to bump into them nearly everywhere he went. While they never harmed him, he wasn’t sure he liked the eyes that seemed to follow his every movement. He pushed open another door that lead to a small kitchen and stepped over another fresh corpse. There was one Variant chowing down on a person towards the back. Such scenes had to become so commonplace that Miles had to remind himself that it was supposed to be shocking.

He pressed a button on a microwave to open its door and frowned. “Ugh, wonderful, brains,” he complained and flicked the bits of grey matter onto the floor. “Is it really that hard to clean out the microwave after you use it?” He slid his container of venison strips and canned potatoes into the microwave and hit the “reheat: dinner-plate” option. His food spun around and around while Miles watched, bored. 

“It’s better fresh,” a voice piped up from the back of the room. Miles glanced at the cannibal Variant and raised an eyebrow. “Meat, nothing beats fresh. You can share my meal if you’d like, Walrider.” 

Miles dismissed him with a wave and sharp toothed smile. “Nah, I’m good. Besides I like to catch my own kills.” He could see the Variant flinch and go back to eating. That was true too, for the most part. Miles had gotten quite efficient at killing both human and animal prey, and there was a part of him that got a deep sense of satisfaction when he drained the life from something else. He had spent weeks ignoring the sensation, denying that it was there. But after he attempted to take his own life and failed, well he had a moment of clarity.

He decided he was done running from what had happened to him. Sure, he’d keep his morals; he didn’t think he’d ever abandon those. But if his body flooded his system with dopamine after making a kill he wasn’t going to complain. It might get him into trouble later, he might very well become addicted to the rush that came with hunting, but right now he lived in a place where being a normal human would end in death. Embracing the monster he’d become was much easier and he slept better at night without worrying about what he had lost, or was currently losing. 

Eventually he’d leave the mountain and when that time came he’d have to think things through once more. He and R would have to have a few chats on what would be acceptable behavior for the both of them when they tried to integrate back into human society. Miles hoped it would come back to him like riding a bike. The worry lingered in the back of his mind that he’d be unable to. That his lifestyle he’d grown accustomed to would be too hard to break free from. R assured him that whatever differences there were he’d be able to overcome them.

The microwave dinged and Miles removed his steaming container and exited the kitchen. He took greedy bites, not bothering to wait for the temperature to cool off. _“You’ve been in an unusually good mood lately Host. Is everything ok?”_

Miles chuckled. “First you get concerned when I say my life sucks, now you’re concerned that I’m in a good mood? Make up your mind buddy, should I be miserable or happy?” 

_“We didn’t mean it like that. We just…We worry is all. We do not want you to forget that this life cannot become the status quo. You must leave.”_

“Right, right, I know. I’ll tell you what,” Miles said and skipped the stairs, flying to the third floor balcony and proceeding to his room. “We’ll do what you suggested a few days ago and take a day trip down to Leadville. We can do a test run of how we handle and behave around normal people again.” Miles nudged his door open and crossed over piles of books and scattered notes that littered the floor. He’d taken his research back up and was making strides in his knowledge of Murkoff and what Project Walrider was. “There’s no doubt in my mind that your emotions will greatly influence mine and it’ll be tricky to balance them out. I don’t want to end up overwhelmed and lose control at the first grocery store or restaurant we enter.” 

_“Humans do not excite Us anymore Host.”_ R said, sitting down next to Miles. _“We were created by humans and have lived beside them for sixty six years. The mere thought that We would be overwhelmed by their presence is stupid.”_

Miles laughed. “You say that now, but I can feel you. The idea excites you, _freedom_ excites you. And I’m not sure how you’ll react, so we’ll be cautious. If all goes well…I can hotwire a car or something and we’ll take all this shit out of here and move it to my apartment. I can do research anywhere and it’ll be good to be in my own bed again.” The idea was slightly daunting, there was still so much left to do, and the amount of literature and notes he’d have to pack up were staggering. However, he had a tireless nanite parasite that could do most of it so he supposed it wasn’t much of a problem. The other big concern would be leaving all the tech behind. After he left he wouldn’t be able to easily access the Murkoff databases. He had to be sure that he got everything printed or stored on portable devices before he left. Coming back might be impossible.

He thought it strange that Murkoff hadn’t made a reappearance lately. The infiltration team he slaughtered and the one lone patrol group were all he had seen for days. There was no doubt in his mind that they would be back at some point. The threat of detonation still hung in the air too. Mount Massive might be his domain, but it wouldn’t stay that way for much longer. That was probably the most convincing argument R had on why Miles should evacuate. Recapture by Murkoff was not an option, and the asylum itself might not be standing soon. They’d be out of a home, and both of them would like Murkoff to keep thinking Project Walrider died with Billy Hope.

It also meant that when they left they wouldn’t be coming back. It’d be a one way ticket back into civilization. Everything they left behind would get destroyed when the place went up in flames or pushed down by bulldozers. His thoughts briefly flickered to David’s grave. It would be desecrated, no doubt. He wanted something better for friend. The phone number for his family was tucked safely in his notebook. He’d call as soon as they got somewhere safe, but a proper burial seemed out of reach for the time being. And if Murkoff detonated the asylum perhaps it would never come. At the very least the family could receive the news and grieve in their own way. 

_“What’s it like, where you live?”_ R asked. 

His voice broke Miles out of his train of thought and he gave the question a few moments to sink in before answering. “Which home?” He asked, not waiting for an answer. “I have a few, actually. Shitty apartments that I pay rent on in cities I frequent often. It’s actually cheaper that way instead of trying to find and pay for hotel rooms.” He thought about his “home base”, back in Oregon. His cozy one bedroom apartment with a queen sized bed and shower that was always too hot. “It’s nice,” Miles finally said. “Relaxing. It’s…I’m proud of it I guess. It’s mine, a place where the world doesn’t weigh on me, a place I can escape and it’s uniquely mine.” 

_“Sounds nice,”_ R said. _“We would like to see it.”_

“And you will, that’s where we’ll be heading after this. Provided all my shit didn’t get tossed out for late rent payments.” Miles typically set aside an account that he stocked with cash that all his rent payments got auto billed from. But he didn’t know if something had gone wrong in his absence. One of his friends, usually Julian, would always pick up the slack and sponsor a month or two if Miles fell behind, and he always offered the same in return. Being an independent journalist wasn’t always the most prolific of jobs and his friends weren’t exactly the science or business person types. Most of them were starving artists trying to eat dreams. _It was a real crime,_ Miles always thought, _that dreams tasted so damn good but had no nutritional value._

He finished the last of his snack and slid into the computer chair. It had been far too long since he checked in with his life outside the mountain. He really didn’t want to think about how many messages and emails had piled up across his various social media accounts and email addresses. At first he hesitated accessing any of his personal sites, just in case Murkoff was still screening web use at this location. But with their lack of presence Miles assumed no one was watching. And even if they were, his email shouldn’t raise too many red flags, at least that’s what he hoped. 

Miles kept multiple email accounts, more than the average person, he assumed. Sure, he had the normal garbage emails that he used to sign up for websites and bullshit social media, an old college email that probably hasn’t worked since he graduated, and one of those old cringe worthy emails from his middle school days. But then he also had a few professional emails as well personal ones. There was his business email, his general personal email, and the email he shared with just his close friends and a few clients. That was the first one he decided to check. 

It wasn’t unusual for him to disappear without contacting anyone or updating his social media for a week. Sometimes he was working time sensitive jobs or didn’t have reliable internet access. But it had been far more than a week. In addition his cell phone had been in his Jeep and was now long gone. So going silent on his social media accounts, blogs, and not answering his phone would raise sever alarms for his closer friends. They did dangerous work, well some of them did, and when you go off chasing stories and breaking into private property things could go very wrong.

There was a network of sorts and everyone watched out for each other. If someone didn’t check in someone else would probably go looking if they knew where to start. Thankfully for Miles he didn’t leave them with any way of knowing what he was up to. The only clue was that he was heading to Colorado and that it involved Murkoff. Any of his friends would figure out that he was heading to Mount Massive, the opening of this particular facility made headlines for a few days…that and he threw a mild fit on his personal blog when he heard the news. He just knew they were up to some sort of shady, dirty, bullshit, but he had no proof and nothing to go on.

It’s amazing how things can change in just a few short years.

So his friends would know he was heading for Mount Massive, but they wouldn’t know if he made it, left already, or got into some other trouble. Most of his contacts were scared shitless of Murkoff and wouldn’t touch anything involving them even if their life, or anyone else’s depended on it. Julian would come looking for answer in another week or so. He usually had more confidence in Miles and they knew each long enough to know that this could be normal. Sometimes Miles just spaced out and got consumed in a job. He knew that Miles had some…legally ambiguous talents and could handle himself. If he was gone longer than a month with no word he’d get concerned. 

At the very least, he’d want to find the body and leave a proper final post on his blogs and news site. And Miles would do the same for him. They all knew that one day they’d chase the wrong lead and end up in the ground.

Miles’ hand went to his chest, where he felt scars from the bullets that tore through his body. Technically that day had come and passed for Miles. He should have died there in that laboratory, but he didn’t. He cheated the reaper and probably would for years to come now. He wasn’t even sure if he could die anymore. In a way, that was comforting. None of his friends would ever have to write about his untimely death. However, he might have to pen all of theirs. There was a very real chance he’d outlive everyone he knew.

”R?” 

_“Yes, Host?”_

“How uh, how long do you think I’ll live with you attached to me?” 

R thought about it for a while. _“We do not know.”_

“Guess then.” 

_“As you wish.”_ He fell silent again. Miles’ body was constantly sending him data about its condition. From his blood pressure and heart rate to blood sugar and fat counts he knew it all. There wasn’t a thing inside his host’s body that he didn’t know about. This also meant that his host would never get sick and never have to worry about cancer. R would destroy all invaders and dangerous growths before they could even be established.

There were a few things he was worried about, however. The first being the disruption to his host’s normal bacteria. All livings things, he had read, contain communities of bacteria that live and work within their hosts body to perform tasks, mostly in digestion. They are called normal flora and R was worried that killing off or taking over for these microbes would seriously impact his Host’s system. Thankfully that hasn’t seemed to be the case. The second thing that worried him was much more pressing. Miles now needed to power all of his own cells, as well as the parasitic nanite cells that multiplied and lived within his body. This meant that his host had to produce double or triple the energy and consume a lot of food. 

So far they’ve been balancing it all out; Miles has been able to sustain his diet while the slack got picked up by his natural fat stores. However, R noticed that such stores were running dangerously low. If this trend continued they’d have to have a talk. R was unwilling to start digesting and eating away muscle, which would be the body’s next best option for energy. They’d have to increase his caloric intake.

As it stood, R didn’t see any reason that his host wouldn’t live a normal human lifespan. _“If We work out the kinks quickly, then We could foresee you living for an average human lifespan. However if We cannot manage your energy levels, or Our presence becomes too much for your body, then you might see a severe reduction in your life. We have confidence that everything will work out, and there might even be a chance of improving and extending your life far beyond that of a normal human.”_

“What about aging? Failing organs, poor eyesight or hearing? All that stuff would greatly impact my quality of life. I don’t care much for living forever if my body is broken and weak for it.”

R laughed in the static. _“Do you honestly think that We would allow such a thing to happen? We will always continue our work of improving and maintaining your body and the cells it produces. We’re reading up on your anatomy and it would seem that eventually your DNA and your cells reach a point where they cannot replicate further. That is a huge flaw and We’ll figure out a workaround for it. If you do not wish to age, We will keep you young, you might not have a choice.”_

Miles leaned back in his chair and whistled. “Wow, eternal life and youth? Won the lottery here, just had to sacrifice being human.” 

_“In Our honest opinion Host, humans are subpar and weak; there should be no pride in being one.”_

Miles nearly choked on his spit. “Hey, some of us liked being part of the largest, most advanced species on the planet. Hey R?” He waited for the Walrider to acknowledge his question. “Could you infect other things?”

_“Like what? Animals? Plants? We have never tried. Plants would be a no; We need a mind to inhabit. Plants lack that. We also need complexity, and most animals are far too simple or weak for that. We would destroy their mind and body in a matter of seconds.”_

“So you can’t do insects? No Walrider infused ant swarm? No super powered bees?”

 _“No, that would be ridiculous.”_ R chuckled, the static rippling in Miles’ mind. _“Can you imagine? Insects make up the majority of the living creatures on this planet. If We could move freely between any of them We would be a truly terrifying creation.”_

“You’re already terrifying,” Miles said with a smile. “Shit, you made me terrifying without even trying.” He focused on the computer and signed into his email. It took less than a second to open and instantly Miles’ eyes were drawn to the first one. It was from one of Julian’s secondary accounts, sometimes they used fake names or accounts to communicate when they were in trouble or thought the other might be in trouble. Clearly Julian had thought that Miles might be compromised and used a backup account. If they were searching through Miles’ contacts there would be no link back to him.

“Shit,” Miles said and opened the email. It was simply titled, “You need to read this, NOW.” 

Julian usually didn’t make demands of Miles unless it was really important. Miles read the short text above a link.

“Miles, you’ve been MIA for weeks and I know you went to that damn asylum to investigate Murkoff. I know you did. Please tell me you didn’t go inside. If you’re not dead, you need to see this. Some truly horrifying stuff in this file. I can’t make heads or tails of it, but maybe you can. And Miles, if you’re alive, for the love of god check in with me. I’ve been worried, and this recent leak has me terrified. Please tell me you weren’t there.

-Jules”

Attached was a link to a site Miles was very familiar with. “VIRALeaks?” Miles said, confused. “Julian knows how much I despise how that site runs. Why would he link me…shit you don’t think?”

_“Host We are very confused. Are you addressing Us or yourself?”_

Miles didn’t answer. He opened the link without hesitation and waited for a large video file to open. “You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said. R moved to stand behind his host and watched the screen. Miles full sized the video and they were greeted by a very, very familiar setting.

_“Host, that’s the labs. Those are the Engine Therapy rooms.”_

“I know,” Miles said, his mouth suddenly dry. He watched a man with light brown hair struggle against restraints while the Engine burned itself into his eyes. This continued on for over thirty minutes. Enough for Miles to fully understand what it must have been like. “This shit entered my mind near instantly, and I was only indirectly watching it for less than ten minutes.”

 _“You were already open and conditioned for it,”_ R said quietly. _“There was something inside you made you susceptible. You were far easier to invade than any other Host or human We have ever seen.”_

“Not comforting,” Miles replied. “I don’t like thinking that I was born for this.” But as he watched the man in the chair scream, he considered himself lucky. Lucky that he didn’t have to endure this type of torture. That he only needed a brief glimpse of the Engine to fully prep his mind. It must have been hell to have your nightmares thrown in your face for hours, for days, only to get thrown into the Engine and watch your body mutate around you. 

The video shifted and Miles knew that this was when the riot had started. The lights went out, the screen died, and screams erupted from the rooms next door. _“We were under Billy’s control for this,”_ R said in Miles ear. _“We started in the labs, killing everything We could get our hands on. Doctors, patients, it didn’t matter to Billy, so it didn’t matter to Us.”_

“I hadn’t arrived yet; it’s still too early for that. I’ve never seen the start of this mess, just the aftermath.” 

_“Billy had just made what the scientists called a “lateral ascension”. Meaning he had taken control over Us for the first time during lucid dreaming. He was very overwhelmed, the power can be intoxicating.”_

“I know the feeling,” Miles commented. 

_“He settled down after a few hours, obtained better control, and was able to choose his targets more carefully. We didn’t really care either way, We were just so happy to finally have a host that could control and use Us.”_

Watching this video seemed so bizarre. So much of this man’s experience mirrored his own. There were sections where he’d be hiding under a grimy bed, or stuffed in a tiny locker. Miles felt like he was reliving his own hellish night all over again. It was also weird seeing the place he called home through this lens again. He had forgotten just how horrifying and gruesome this place was. It wasn’t normal to step over bodies or ignore blood splatter on the wall. Mount Massive wasn’t normal, but he’d been living here so long it was beginning to become it. It was even feeling familiar and home like. The video seemed to drag on for hours, Miles hardly noticed the time flying by. He was engrossed with this other man’s experiences. There had been many, many, close calls. Miles even flinched when the metal shard went through the man’s leg, effectively hobbling him for the rest of the escape attempt.

He glanced down at his fingers, at the nubs of the two that were taken and was suddenly thankful Trager didn’t continue with the mantra on the wall, “Fingers First, then balls, then tongue.” Though, maybe R wouldn’t mind the lack of tongue. That feeling of thankfulness only increased as Miles watched someone who others called “The Groom” brutally murder and mutilate people. The gymnasium of hanging dead bodies made Miles glad he’d never bothered going to the Vocational Block. 

Miles had to give the person behind the camera props; the long and slow pan of the courtyard lit by the burning church was truly cinematic. A different feel from what the inside was like. The guy had a natural knack for shooting film; he’d make a great backup cameraman or photographer.

It was in the final moments of the recording that it all clicked together for Miles. Memories started flashing through his mind. A man on the ground, clutching a wound to his stomach, another man in a suit attempting to kill him, and the rush of commanding the Walrider without knowing it. _“We were under your control by this point,”_ R said.

“Yeah,” Miles said and watched the screen. “I remember.” The camera wasn’t pointed at the gore raining from the ceiling, it was instead facing the wall, but Miles knew exactly what had happened because he was the one behind it. The man struggled to his feet, grabbed the camera and hobbled out to freedom. Miles watched him steal his own Jeep. In the last moments of the video before it was cut he saw the camera zoom in on himself, also hobbling, also stumbling, hurt and confused into the sunlight. From this angle it looked like he was trying to harm the cameraman, like he was just another monster the asylum spat out. But that wasn’t true and it was the downfall to recordings like this. 

Half the time you end up painting someone in the wrong light. “Holy shit I look terrifying,” Miles said and leaned back as the Jeep burst through the gate and drove off down the road towards Leadville. “Good to know the night vision mode on these cameras enhances our monster factor by ten. And not just to you, but to me when I’m channeling you. I wonder what I look like with it on and I’m not actively using you? That could mess up some undercover work if I stand out on security footage.” 

_“We do not know, you could always test it,”_ R said. 

Miles minimized the video and started looking around the VIRALeak page that contained the footage. “Wait…where’s the rest of it?” 

_”Rest of what Host?”_

“The rest of the evidence, the proof!”

 _“Is that video not enough?”_ R asked, genuinely confused. He didn’t know much about the human world but he figured that would be more than enough to prove anything. It was hours of proof.

“No, no it’s not,” Miles said running a hand through his hair, slightly panicked. “Normally, sure, video footage is damning evidence, in fact I’ve based stories on just that alone, but Murkoff isn’t an average corporation and this isn’t an average case. Anyone in journalism would-“ and that’s when Miles froze, realizing what had happened. “That man isn’t a journalist, shit he might have just been another patient. He wouldn’t know…how could he know? He just…oh damn it all to hell, R we gotta go. Now.” 

_“Go?”_ R’s static showed an increase in excitement. _“You mean leave the asylum? Leave the mountain?”_

“Yes!” Miles said, standing up and starting to gather books and papers. “This guy fucked up, big time. If we don’t step in soon it might be impossible to prove Murkoff was responsible for any of this!” His hands flew across the keys, typos be damned and searched up this exact topic. There weren’t any hits on the major search engines and it would be pages until he stumbled upon the VIRALeaks page. “Good, it hasn’t gone viral yet, I doubt anyone but a few journalists have even seen the footage. There might be time still.” 

Miles sat back down, forcing his heart to beat slower and his mind to stop racing. “First off, I’m curious about who released the footage, they were clever to cut parts of the video out that mentioned his name, but he didn’t think to cut out or blur his patient number on the jumper. Maybe he didn’t think Murkoff would care, or notice. I can search the database here and figure it out.” In a few clicks he found his answer. “Here we go, patient 2536, former Murkoff temporary employee, contract number 8208, Waylon Park-Waylon motherfucking Park! I can’t believe this shit!” 

_“What? Host We are confused, stop going so fast. Do you know this man?”_

“No, no I don’t, and I might still be jumping to conclusions, but I’m pretty sure this is the guy who emailed me originally. The date of his forced incarceration matches the day he sent me the email. It even says in his file he was caught blowing the whistle. It might just be a coincidence but…I don’t know, seems too perfect to be that.” 

_“So you have this man to blame for bringing you here?”_ Miles nodded. _“Then we should thank him, where does he live?”_

Miles laughed, even though the world felt like it was swiftly falling out from under him. ”I don’t think I’ll be thanking him for anything,” he replied. “But I’m also interested in where he is. More importantly, what he did with my Jeep.” Screw worrying about security or Murkoff linking any of this to him, he opened another tab and did a search for three different tracking companies. “I didn’t think I’d see that vehicle again, but now I might. I installed tracking devices in my Jeep, my phone and my main personal laptop. So if the guy left my Jeep somewhere and it hasn’t been towed I can still find it. My phone and laptop were in the Jeep, so if it hasn’t been broken into I should be able to locate all three of them.” He entered his personal data in carefully, mindful of his missing fingers that frequently caused him to mistype. The Jeep was the first he tracked, and after a few moments a little dot appeared on a map. “It’s in Leadville,” Miles reported. His phone and computer checked out, all the same spot on the map, so they hadn’t been moved. “2638 Mt. Homestake Drive, Leadville Colorado. It’s residential.” He quickly did a search on the property and nearly slammed his face into the desk. He groaned when R asked if he was ok. “This guy is seriously dumb. He hasn’t even moved; this is the house he bought before he started working for Murkoff. It hasn’t even been put up on the market.” There was a slim chance he had already abandoned it, but Miles wasn’t sure he was smart enough to think of that.

“Well, the good news is we won’t have to break into any civilian cars,” Miles said. And that was probably the only good news this situation brought him. He stood up and paced aggressively back and forth in the room before leaping from the window and flying straight up into the sky. He needed to think, he needed to act in something that wasn’t a blind panic. 

Here’s what he knew, someone who wasn’t him released footage of Mount Massive. This same person didn’t include enough evidence to actually pin down the company for anything. The footage hadn’t gone viral yet, and probably wouldn’t for at least twenty-four hours. Murkoff would then take a day, two at most, to release a formal press conference in response to the footage. From there he knew the legal teams would spin it into something else, a lie, and sweep it under the rug. They would also target the whistleblower, this Waylon Park character, and his family. With no living witnesses they’d continue their operations and move everything to the secondary site. 

Miles couldn’t let that happen. He could stay here as the mountain’s protector, reveal to Murkoff that Project Walrider was not dead, and try to take care of the problem that way, by murdering everyone he saw. Or he could go ahead with his plan to release the footage he had, and the documents, emails, interviews, everything he’d collected. He’d have to fight against the already strong case against him, as Waylon’s footage would have been considered fake, leaving his own harder to swallow, but he had to try. He took a deep breath and free fell back down to the asylum before resuming his flight over the grounds. If Waylon Park was still at the residence when he swung by to grab his Jeep, he could take the other man with him. Protect him from Murkoff. Two survivors would be better than one. He was starting to formulate a plan. 

Collect everything he had, leave the asylum, get his car and Mr. Park, then head to his apartment or motel bounce until they could get their side of the story up, then…Well, then he couldn’t predict what would happen. Either it worked and Murkoff would fold, or he’d have to reveal himself as Project Walrider and force actions to happen. He hoped that wouldn’t be the case, he really, really did. He wanted to just go back to being a normal journalist. Live his normal life, but with an added roommate only he could see.

This case had already become more than he could have ever imagined. He stretched his arms out wide and tried to enjoy the last bit of freedom he had here. Flying was definitely something that normal, human, reporters didn’t do. Neither did they hunt down deer and kill them with their fangs. They certainly didn’t control a swarm of nanites either. The air was still cool and crisp and it felt good to be out in the open sky. He did a few lazy loops and went back to the window of his room. 

R was waiting for him on the couch, radio on, and a book in his hands. _“Are you relaxed now, Host?”_

“Yes, much better. I’ll need your help, probably for a while, if you don’t mind.” 

_“We are yours to command, We have no objections to orders. Any orders.”_

“Right, ok. So here’s the deal. We’re leaving. Tonight. For real, I’m not joking. But before that I need to be prepared and I need to take every scrap of data I can with me. While I pack up I need you to do a sweep of the asylum.” 

_“A sweep?”_

“Yes,” Miles said. He was about to issue one of the hardest commands he had ever given. “I need you to go through the asylum and kill anyone who is hostile towards you. Anyone. Stay fully manifested so they can see you and kill those who act aggressively.”

_“Host are you sure? Doesn’t this go against your morals?”_

Miles sighed. “I was going to stay here and wait for most of the patients to starve to death, but we don’t have that luxury anymore. I understand now that it is partially my responsibility to protect the people from Project Walrider. That includes protecting the town of Leadville from the Engine rejects. Not everyone is violent; we know this, that’s why I only want you to target the ones that could become a threat. Leadville is a town that doesn’t need to deal with random murders.” R nodded in understanding. “When you’re done come get me, we need to hit the labs next.”

_”What needs to be done in the labs?”_

“We need to destroy the Morphogenic Engine,” Miles said. “We need to make sure it can never function again, and then we need to trash the computers and servers down there. Make it so no recovery team could ever pull any data from those machines.” Miles started to stack books and papers. “While you’re doing that I’ll be packing. We’ll leave on foot for Leadville, I can’t risk taking a company impounded car, incase they’re trackable like my Jeep is.” 

R disappeared and went to carry out his orders while Miles frantically printed and emailed documents to himself. He wanted to leave no trace that he’d ever been there, but with the footage out on the web Murkoff might already have his plate number, shit they might even have freeze framed the small moment the camera had captured of the inside of his Jeep and caught his press pass. He had a good idea that they already had his email from the original security breach, but that coupled with his press pass would confirm he was there. He’d be a target soon as well. Maybe not a top priority, like Mr. Park, especially since Murkoff would have assumed everyone died at the asylum. No reporter could have snuck in and crawled out alive. But they’d want to make sure. 

So he didn’t worry too much about emailing himself documents, he used his backup accounts, but he didn’t doubt Murkoff’s ability to trace even that. Miles knew he wouldn’t have long to stay off their radar. He had to move quickly and carefully. 

Soon R came back and reported to Miles that every aggressive human had been taken care of. Which was both good and terrible news. He hated the thought of being responsible for the deaths of other humans, but his own death count was already uncountable, what’s a few dozen more?

 _“Host if you would like to continue packing We could handle the Engine and basement computers,”_ R said as they made their way to the elevator. 

“No, I won’t make you go down there alone. It makes you uncomfortable. There’s no reason you should have to be in that type of situation.”

R argued, _“Host We do not feel like you We-“_

Miles cut him off, “But you do feel. Whether you like it or not, you feel and I won’t let you go alone.”

_“Host this is stupid.”_

“Maybe,” he shrugged and jumped down the elevator shaft. He never did fix what was blocking the elevator and now just road it up until it got stuck and flew the rest of the way. He solved most of his problems recently by flying. Stressed out? Fly. Can’t reach something? Fly. Elevator broken? Fly. “I’m going to miss some of this,” Miles said.

_“The dead bodies? The smell?”_

Miles elbowed R. “No, flying.” His eyes were still adjusting to the harsh difference in lighting down in the labs. This happened every time they’ve gone down there, but it was getting worse each time. “Some of the things I can do are really cool and I will actually miss them being human…or at least pretending to be human.” He rubbed at his eyes and continued, “This whole light sensitivity thing is garbage though, why did you do this to me?” 

R’s laughter rippled through the static _. “We didn’t hear you complaining when you got up to pee the other night and didn’t trip over your piles of books.”_

“I have to admit, you make a fair point,” Miles said with his own laugh. “Come on, lets make this quick. The stench down here is assaulting my nose.” They stepped over bloated bodies and rotting gore and wandered into the Engine chambers. Miles had been here once before, but this time it felt different. He stood in front of the massive machine that loomed over him. “Any uh, any idea where to start?” R shook his head. “Great.” He placed a hand to his head and asked, “Is that you? God please tell me that’s you.” 

_“No?”_ R looked over at his host with concern. _“What’s wrong? You won’t let me in.”_

“That’s because my damn head feels like it’s going to explode.” He dropped to one knee. “I don’t,” he winced, “I don’t understand. We’ve been down here before, shit we removed Billy from his pod just five feet over. What the hell?” 

R looked anxiously from his host to the machine then back to him. Perhaps the Engine was growing stronger? Or maybe his host was no longer used to its presence. _“It’s the Engine.”_

“Obviously,” Miles spat out. “Start unplugging shit.” He ordered. His vision was starting to swim. “Holy shit.” He struggled to his feet and punched a nanite enforced hand through the nearest screen. R followed Miles lead and went to the top of the machine and started yanking bundles of wires. Instant relief flooded through Miles, like a dam had broken down and the pressure released. “Fuuuuuck,” he said and pressed his forehead to a spot of cool metal. “Keep doing what you’re doing R. I’m going to head upstairs, get some distance between me and this thing.” 

_“Good idea,”_ R said and continued destroying the Engine. It was actually pretty cathartic when he thought about it. This was the machine that had tied him to this place and forced him inside host after host. It was made to control him, to break down and ruin the humans that he was put inside. Destroying it was something he never thought he would be able to do. For good measure he ripped a large metal bar from the supports and cracked all of the pods as well. He flew around the room ripping off panels and pulling up wiring. It was starting to become fun. He dive bombed a bank of computers and infiltrated the circuits, overheating drives and destroying the delicate chips. 

Miles watched amused as R disintegrated into a storm cloud of nanites and flew around the room wrecking everything in sight. He watched as computers whirred on, froze and blue screened before dying out completely. He tried tapping into R’s emotions but was overwhelmed with happiness of all things. Miles cracked a smile and let the Walrider continue on his wave of destruction. He also made a mental note not to piss off R in the presence of any electronics he held dear. The pounding in his head had subsided as well, now there was just the normal static hum that Miles had gotten used to weeks ago. 

“Feel good?” Miles asked when R had paused, looking for more things to destroy.

_“You have no idea, Host.”_

He chuckled and replied, “I think I have a little bit of an idea. I’m going to go trash the labs, you can move onto the Engine Therapy rooms when you’re done here and we meet up in the old loading bay when everything is properly trashed.” 

R nodded in confirmation and dissipated into dust once more. Miles jogged out of the Engine room; he scooped up a long piece of metal from the floor and went to work. The lower level was surprisingly larger than Miles had thought. He’d only really explored the Engine room, Wernicke’s office, and a few of the examination rooms. He had no idea there were so many holding cells, chambers and cleanrooms. Suddenly it all became a little more daunting. He gripped the metal bar tightly and started swinging, destroying computers, shattering glass samples and ruining refrigerators. He tore up x-rays and shredded notebooks, leaving nothing behind. He would fly from room to room to try to save time. He knew there was another place on campus that could have research documents but he couldn’t spare the time to locate the medical center too. Some stuff he’d just have to let slip through. He was more concerned with rendering the laboratories inoperable, so Murkoff couldn’t salvage any of it, or use it again. 

Miles moved into a biohazard zone and started smashing things there, releasing who knows what into the air. He didn’t mind, he knew R would just fight off whatever managed to get into his system. He took great pleasure in smashing the work of all the scientists. Did people die for these samples? Probably. Did Miles care? Absolutely not. Fuck the research going on down here. This was never going to save lives, Project Walrider wasn’t a tool to make lives better, it was a weapon and it would only cause death in the wrong hands.

What he was doing here was a far cry from protesting animal rights by trashing labs that use animals for testing, or protesting corrupt pharmaceutical corporations. Those were fights for different days, and different people. He was a journalist, not an activist. Though sometimes that line blurred dangerously. 

He stood, breathing heavily, in the last room that needed to be fucked up. Miles was pretty satisfied with the results, it helped him blow off some of the anger over his story being taken and leaked without himself at the helm. When he looked around the destruction he felt a bit of confidence rising. He could still do this. He had to do this. 

In the loading bay he waited for R. The doors were still open, letting in light and mountain air. There was a half empty pack of cigarettes lying next to the torso of a man. Miles bent down and picked them up and fished around the dead man’s pants pockets for a lighter. He was never a hardcore smoker, but he liked one or two from time to time. Miles figured surviving through this hell was worthy of a couple. He lit the cigarette and took a deep breath; it was something that made him feel a little human. He exhaled and watched the smoke leave his lips. It swirled around before disappearing into the air. Before he could take another drag the cigarette was flicked from his mouth.“What the hell R?” 

_“Those are bad for you, they will kill you.”_

“Yeah, like after a million packs, one isn’t going to hurt me.” Miles reached for another but the Walrider took the pack and crushed it. “Rude,” Miles said with a frown. R ignored him. “Besides, you could always heal whatever starts to go wrong.”

_“We don’t want you developing dangerous behaviors because you think We will always save you.”_

“Well,” Miles asked, “won’t you?” 

The Walrider ignored him and pushed him towards the open door. _“Come on Host, you still have a lot of work to do.”_

This time, they took the outdoor route so they could enjoy the fresh air and afternoon sun. Miles wasn’t looking forward to walking down the mountain at night; it would be chilly and dark. _“Host why are we leaving at night?”_

“I don’t want to be spotted; it’s easier to move around unnoticed at night. There’s less traffic, less people out and we’ll blend in more if can’t hold appearance steady. God I hope I can keep my appearance stable,” he added. Miles glanced at his hands, they were shaking, he needed to eat, but other than that they looked completely human. 

_“You’ll be fine,”_ R said, trying to sound comforting. _“You are strong, and smart. A bit weak, but We’ll work on that.”_ Miles nudged him. _“We’ll let you know if you break and start looking inhuman.”_

“Thank you.” And Miles meant it. “I’m sorry for how I acted a few days ago. I know it must be hell being connected to me. My mood switches and drops all the time, I went from suicidal to being fine and just… Neither of us wanted this you know? But here we are, connected for life, about to leave the only place that makes us feel safe, and…” Miles stopped; he didn’t know where he was going with this. “I know you only think of yourself as a machine, a tool to be used, but I think we can both call bullshit on that by now.” R nodded. “I just…lets make the best of this ok?” 

_“Of course.”_

“I’ll probably still get mad at you. And argue, and fight.”

_“Naturally. You are human after all.”_

Miles grinned. “Race you to the room.” 

_“Consider this a valuable training exercise, prepare to lose.”_

He thought that after being connected to and around the Walrider for a month he’d be used to R’s incredible speed and mobility. However he still found himself in a state of amazement when the creature went from a solid, human like form to that of particles in the wind in a matter of seconds. The cargo bay opened up to a service road a little ways down the mountain side. It was weird to think that the basement labs could have an entrance to the outside; the fact of the matter was that the labs were less underground, and more built into the side of the mountain. The asylum sat at the top of a ridge, and sure the labs are underneath that, but they had to be open to the outside to make delivering equipment and construction easier. 

All this meant was that Miles had a mile long, uphill, race with a nanite monster that was currently outpacing him. Miles burst into a run to try to make up lost time but R was simply too far ahead. He looked around, noting the steep incline they were about to face and Miles summoned the nanites to carry him into the air. Once there he tried to think of alternate routes to the Administration Block that he could use as a shortcut. He was currently flying alongside the trees that would break and give way to the Vocational Block and Male Ward. He landed on the roof of what he hoped was the male ward and ran across it, he was heading towards the open courtyard. If R took the standard path up the Mountain this might save him some time and he’d win. He leapt across the gaps between buildings and jumped off the edge, rolling in a cloud of nanites and resumed his sprint. He made it to the Administration Block and scaled the wall, running up three stories worth of old brick and racing across the roof to slide down the other side and swing into his current bedroom. 

“Ha ha! Beat…you…how the fuck are you so fast?” 

R was lounging on the couch, a book in one hand. _“Did you think you’d win? Honestly? We’ve lived here for years, you a mere four weeks. Your body is fast, but it’s not comparable to Ours. You didn’t stand a chance.”_ The Walrider tossed a bag to his host and said, _“You used a creative route though, We are proud of your ability to think on your feet, now don’t you have packing to do?”_

The Walrider watched from the couch as his host ran around the room, much like a chicken with its head cut off. Miles seemed to be frantically piling up books and papers and going through documents. “R! Where’s my copy of The History of Nanorobotics?” 

_“On the side table Host.”_

“Oh my god, I can’t find the profit reports and spending logs for the first year of production.” 

R sighed. _“You already scanned and emailed those to yourself. The hardcopies are in the second pile to the left of the computer.”_

“Where’s the-“

_“By the fireplace, third book down on the right.”_

“Should I bring one of these spare computers?”

R looked around at the pile of books and stuffed backpacks. _“Host We do not think you have enough space for all of this. You have to leave some behind.”_ He watched calmly as Miles screamed in frustration and started to go through his things one more time. R lobbed a can of soda at his host which smacked him in the back of the head. He ignored the swearing and said, _“You need to calm down Host, you are getting far too worked up. Drink that, eat something, and come back to this. There is still plenty of day in the sky.”_

Miles guzzled the soda and demolished a pile of vending machine chips they found down in the labs. He checked the internet frequently, every hour or so to track the story’s progress. So far, only a handful of news blogs were running confused sounding stories about the leaked footage. This was what Miles had expected and was hoping for. He looked past the computer at the mountains of paperwork. “Why couldn’t this guy have given me two more weeks to work? I’ll never get everything I need at this rate.”

_“Then don’t. Grab what is essential Host. Perhaps we can come back for things later. Murkoff was going to demolish this building, that is most likely fact, but they won’t do it instantly.”_

Miles nodded, calming down. “I want to get as much as we can, in case they do burn the place down, but you’re right.” He glanced at the bulging backpacks. “There’s only so much I can take. If all goes well we can drop off some of this and come back for more, if we’re quick about it. Murkoff will be too busy with their cover story, and we can easily sneak past the guards they’ll assign to the mountain.” 

_“You still seem worried.”_

“That’s because I am. As soon as Murkoff releases their counter story it’s going to get so much harder. I’m betting they’ll spin either one of these two tales, the first: This is a movie trailer, something fictional, a viral launch campaign something like that. It’s close to Halloween so it’s a very likely story. The footage looks real, but CGI has come a long way and with the right lighting and camera type, even practical effects can look really real. Everyone agrees that they didn’t bring back actual dinosaurs to film during Jurassic Park, but no one argues that those effects don’t look damn convincing. Found footage movies have been making a comeback in the recent years, along with mockumentaries.” Miles stood up and continued his rant, “The second explanation: Waylon Park is an unstable, angry ex-employee with a vendetta against the company and a wide history of doing things like this. They’ll make up eye witness accounts, pay off friends or family to testify against him, come up with a recording team to vouch and say it’s all fictional. He’ll be labeled a liar and a threat and probably sued. When the media buzz dies down they’ll make sure he’s disposed of. A freak accident, suicide, robbery gone wrong, anything to get the actual witness gone and out of the way.” 

_“How does this make your job harder?”_

“I’m already labeled a crazy journalist with a vendetta against Murkoff. My footage is going to look extremely similar to Waylon’s; we even shot it on similar cameras. Of course, my style is different and I have more secondary evidence, but if they play the second angle, well…it won’t be too hard to create this story: Waylon Park, fired from his job and falling behind on debts contacts the paranoid, conspiracy spreading, Murkoff hating journalist, that’s me,” Miles adds, pointing to himself, “to concoct a story that will go viral and tarnish the name of the corporation. Together they fake footage and leak documents using a popular leaking service and the journalists own news site. They make enough money through ad revenue and traffic on the site to pay off debts and the crazy journalist gets to be in the spotlight for a few days.” 

_“But that’s not true.”_

“Of course it’s not true. But it’s not that hard to dismiss my work after this blows up. I have a history and reputation of following this company around and digging up their shit. Even if they don’t link me to Mr. Park they’ll still try to say that I’m just feeding off of the hype.”

_“What’s the point of bringing all these documents then?”_

Miles looked around at all of the research he’d done. “Well, I’m hoping that somewhere, among the thousands that will view my report, someone will notice that these aren’t fake. That my contacts with the military will pull through and take me seriously. Despite what I just said, I’m pretty well known, and what I’m known for is always telling the truth, and not doing things for attention.” 

Miles bent down and scooped a set of reports; he leafed through them, noticed they were all in German, noticed he could still read them fluently, and set them aside. “I’m just not sure what will build the strongest case.” 

_“It’s your job, isn’t it?”_ R asked. _“You’ve been doing this your whole life. We’ve read some of your memories, We are sure you’ll figure this out. And when it’s all over, We’ll get to accompany you all over the world and see new things for the first time in Our life.”_

He couldn’t help but smile at R’s optimistic outlook on the whole project. “Well then, I can’t let you down huh?” 

_“We wanted to suggest that you just forget about Murkoff and live. But after spending so much time in your mind We understand you will never stop chasing this until it is over. So We will stand by your side and help you finish what you’ve started. We have no other choice.”_

“Thanks,” Miles said. He knew R didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He was forced to follow whatever his host did. This is no different. Miles decided to collect up several of the older documents and put them in a binder, these were the files in German, the stuff from the thirties and forties when Project Walrider wasn’t even named yet. He also kept a lot of the files about MKUltra, Operation Paperclip and the older studies done here at the asylum. He might be able to use it for other cases down the road.

He filled one backpack with books and reports from Project Walrider, everything he could think of from all dates down the road. The other backpack held corporate information, the patient information from the Show Ward, and the older documents. He also took several USB drives of data he hadn’t had a chance to go through and threw his trusty camera in that same bag. That’s the one he swung over his shoulder. The other pack he gave to R to carry. “Should we trash this room?” Miles asked.

_“Will you need any of this information if we do?”_

Miles shrugged and decided to leave it as it was. They trashed the labs and ruined the Engine. Miles was sure that some of this stuff they must have had backup copies of. Shit the scientists even said they had English translations of the older documents on file. He looked back at his room and closed the door, leaving it to the mercy of the other Variants. 

It was a weird feeling walking down the hall and looking out over the balcony one last time at the Administration Block. _“Will you miss it?”_ R asked.

“Hell no,” Miles replied and descended the stairs into the main entrance. He pried the heavy doors open and took one last look back before letting them slam shut. They walked along the gravel path and pushed the gates open. As they walked Miles held up both of his hands, middle fingers blazing in the sunset. “Fuck this place,” Miles said with conviction. This was it, he was leaving. Monster or not, he was heading into the world. 

R looked at the gesture Miles was making and imitated it; throwing both hands into the air are flicking off the asylum. _“Fuck this place,”_ he echoed and Miles laughed.

The two walked down the road for a couple of miles before dipping into the woods. They didn’t want to be spotted and as they neared the parts of the mountain that were used by people other than Murkoff that threat grew larger. Miles and R debated running down the mountain, R thought Miles could use the free running practice, but Miles didn’t want to waste the extra energy. He didn’t want to go feral the second he reached Leadville. “Ok, we need to set up some ground rules,” Miles said, hopping over a fallen tree.

 _“Go on,”_ R said.

“Ok first up, we can’t let anyone see us for what we are. You have to stay hidden at all times in public areas, you can only be visible when we’re alone in my apartment or something like that. Or if I give you permission or the command.” R nodded, he knew that would be one of the conditions, and he was ok with that. He didn’t much care for humans anyways. He would silently observe the world. “Second, you can’t judge my personal life. What I do with my time is not yours to criticize.”

_“That sounds more than fair Host. We will step in if you develop damaging habits or hobbies. As We have a right to your health and body as a parasite.”_

“Ok, deal. If I start acting stupid or destructive step in.” Miles adjusted his pack and kept walking and talking. “Third, and this is the most important. We will not kill any more innocent people. No exceptions. We cannot harm humans, we are not a weapon. I’m a journalist; you’re an experimental form of life. We are not under Murkoff’s control; we will not be a weapon.”

_“But Host, what about if it’s to protect ourselves? What if we encounter Murkoff soldiers? Are We to stand by and watch you die?”_

“No, if it’s Murkoff’s stupid private military we’ll fight back. If I end up chasing a story that has me at gun point we can fight back. I don’t want to die any more than you do, but we cannot harm innocents. I must not lash out due to hunger, understood?”

_“Understood Host. We shall not take the lives of humans who do not wish us harm.”_

“Good,” Miles said, satisfied and pushed back the thick branches of a pine tree. He stepped out past them and froze when bright lights blinded him from the side. “What the hell?” He couldn’t see anything as his eyes struggled to adjust to the brightness. A loud horn blared in his ears and he raised his arms up to protect his face out of instinct. He heard R call out before the sound of metal grinding and tires squealing invaded his ears.

When Miles opened his eyes he found himself in the twilight darkness. There was a semi-truck in front of him with a person shaped dent in the grill, and R standing between him and the truck. The driver’s side door opened and a round man poked his head out. “H-Holy shit! Are you ok? You damn near ran into my truck!” He paused and looked over Miles checking him for injuries, then his eyes landed on R. “What is that?” He asked, finally spotting the wrecked front end of his truck. “What are you?” He ducked back into the cab where his radio waited. Then he was no more, exploded from the inside out in a matter of seconds. 

Miles was still trying to process what happened. R reformed by his side. _“Are you injured Host?”_

“No I’m fine, is the driver ok- R what did I literally just get done saying?” He could see that there was blood spattered against the windshield and bits of flesh slid down the glass onto the dashboard. 

_“We are sorry Host! We panicked. You just told us nobody was allowed to see Us or you using Our power and then this man clearly saw Us and We acted on instinct.”_

“Oh my god,” Miles sat down in the road and put a hand against his face. “That’s it, nope; we’re going back up the mountain. We can’t do this. It’s been what? An hour and we’ve already had our first civilian death?” 

_“We are not going back. Come on,”_ R said and wrapped his around Miles and pulled him up. _“It was an accident. We were just trying to protect you.”_

Miles sighed and looked at the truck. It was carrying lumber, probably to a construction site not far from here. “We have to dispose of the evidence,” Miles said, in the most un-reporter like fashion. He was never about hiding anything, but an exploded corpse in a truck would be sure to raise some flags, especially if Murkoff was watching. 

_“You could eat the remains,”_ R suggested.

”No, I’m not eating the body; I told you I was done with that. Besides there’s no way I could eat a whole corpse on my own.” Miles dropped his pack to the ground and floated up to the driver’s side door. He made sure not to touch anything, or even leave a footprint on the truck. “Jesus R, he was just a trucker, probably has a wife and kid somewhere. Did you really need to explode the poor bastard?” 

_“We panicked,”_ He said again.

Using the nanites Miles put the truck in gear and started the engine. It struggled to life but it turned on after a few tries. Miles yanked the steering wheel so the tires pointed off the road and down into the ditch where it would hopefully collide with a few trees and come to a stop. He then toggled the clutch and gas and drove the truck over the edge before placing a severed foot on the gas and dipping away, slamming the door as it drove itself down into the darkness. “Lets go,” Miles said to R, pulling his backpack back on. “And quickly, I don’t want to be around when someone discovers this mess.”

 _“We’re sorry,”_ R offered up. Miles just sighed and took off jogging down the road. They dove back into the woods again and this time they didn’t keep a slow pace. Miles and R ran through the woods, R breaking into smoke half way down his body, keeping his chest, arms and head solid so he could carry his own pack. Miles leapt logs and dodged boulders, just like he did a week ago. He knew the general direction that they had to go. Leadville was at the base of the mountain, but not next to it, it was a few miles north east from the mountain. Miles remembered his original drive took him about forty five minutes to reach the asylum from the town. On foot it would take a few hours, even if they could move faster than the average human. When they left the cover of the forest they’d have to travel far from the road. He didn’t need any curious late night driver slowing and picking him up. 

The goal of this was to stay hidden, out of sight, so no one would be able to say they saw a mysterious man matching his description anywhere near Mount Massive. The walk was boring, even when they ran it wasn’t very exciting. There’s only so many times that vaulting over a tree at a full run would be exhilarating. Sometimes he and R chatted, but he could tell they were both too excited and nervous to hold a decent conversation. Finally Miles could see a few small lights indicating civilization was near.

They were coming in from the west heading east on CO 300. When they entered the city limits Miles pulled out a map he printed out with directions to Waylon’s house. By now it was pitch black outside, it had been for the past few hours. Miles used this to their advantage and cloaked themselves in shadowy nanites for the last leg of their trip. Once inside the small town Miles dropped the nanites and forced himself to appear human. R vanished to the human eye and handed his bag over to Miles to carry. Nobody needed to see a floating backpack at four in the morning. 

_“This is a human city? We have to say Host, We are not impressed.”_

Miles snorted. “This is not a good representation. This town is really small, wait until you see New York.”

Surprisingly there were a lot of people out and about at this time of day. He figured most of them worked as forest rangers or famers where their job started as soon as the sun came up. A few people passed him in cars but they paid him no mind. He was just a guy with a backpack, could be a hiker, could be out walking before work, they didn’t know or care. Miles glanced at the map and made his way to Mt. Homesteak Drive and found the Park residence. 

It was a cute two story home with an attached garage. Nothing fancy, the outside was a pale blue and all the curtains were pulled shut. Miles quickly made his way around the house, staying out of sight from any neighbors and avoiding windows. The last thing he needed was a concerned neighbor calling the police to report suspicious activity or a possible break in in progress. “R, I need you to get inside the house and see if anyone is home. Stay invisible, don’t materialize and report back to me after you do a complete sweep. Check the garage too, for my Jeep.” Miles sent him a mental image of what his trusty vehicle looked like. R nodded and silently disappeared through the cracks and holes in the house. 

Miles meanwhile looked around and cozied up between a wood pile and air conditioning unit. The only way he’d be spotted now is if someone saw him from dead on, which looked impossible. The Park residence butted up against a thick group of pine trees which sheltered their backyard from any curious eyes. R reappeared beside him moments later. _“There are two adult humans and two young humans inside the house. Your Jeep is in the garage.”_

“Wait, you said there were two kids?” Miles whispered. R nodded. “Shit,” he swore. “Shit, shit, shit, he has a family. And you’re sure it was Mr. Park?” 

_“His face matched the picture you showed Us and…”_ R hesitated. _“And We could feel the Engine in him. He’s been touched by it, fed it, We can tell. That man is definitely the one you are looking for.”_

Miles nodded and ran a hand through his hair. “Ok, we’ll wait for the wife to go to work, and the kids to go to school, then…then we introduce ourselves to Mr. Park.” Miles corrected, “Actually, I’ll be introducing myself to Mr. Park, you’ll be hidden. Best not to freak him out instantly,” Miles chuckled. “You’re probably the last thing he wants to see.” 

He looked up at the inky black sky. The stars were so clear out here, much different from his city home as a child and his apartment back in Oregon. “It’s pretty crazy to think that we’re just one planet in a universe filled with them.”

R followed his host’s gaze towards the sky. _“We do not yet have a concept of the size of the world, of Earth. But if each dot is a planet or star, like the sun then…Then it is humbling.”_

“That’s exactly what I think every time I look up at the night sky. We’re so small…but our lives feel like the biggest thing in the world, in the universe. And perhaps they are,” Miles said. “To us they are, because we might not ever experience anything bigger.” 

> “It’s late, about five in the morning. I haven’t slept in nearly twenty four hours. We just ran down the mountain, literally, couldn’t risk taking a car. So here I am, writing this in the dark, which is no problem, I can see in the fucking dark now. No one’s going to be reading this note anyways, so it’s safe to share that. But I’m sitting outside the home of the man who brought me into this hell, and in a few short hours I’ll be introducing myself and sharing my story with him. A story that’s a lot like his own, only…he escaped by himself and mostly intact. I escaped with a partner and a couple missing digits.
>
>> “I didn’t want to rush this story, but my hand’s been forced. The footage Mr. Park leaked will be viral by dawn, and Murkoff will be scrambling to cover it up. We have to move fast, and we have to move now. I only hope that Mr. Park decides to work with me, and not slam the door in my face. I could use all the help I can get. This entry marks the end of an era I suppose. I’m no longer trapped at Mount Massive, from now on I’ll be back to doing what I do best, journalism. I’d say wish me luck, but let’s be honest, I’ll need more than luck to pull this off. From- Notes on Mount Massive, a collection of thoughts by Miles Upshur” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Just...wow. This is it. The end of The Aftermath at Mount Massive.  
> I'm gonna take a moment and say that I'm proud of myself. This is the first long form fic I've ever completed. At 260 pages, 133,763 words (says my word document AO3 might count differently) and after two years of writing this is the longest story I've ever done. Granted, like I've said before, this is just part one of three. The story is not over, but I'm proud I finished the first part. It's been a wild ride.  
> I want to thank everyone who has read this story through to the end, you guys rock and have literally read a novel's worth of fanfiction. Every comment, every kudo, and every person who's read this has kept me going. Without you guys I might have lost steam chapters ago. Thank you. Really.  
> I said in the last chapter that part two, titled "The Long Road" would be story boarded and outlined this month and if all goes well, I'll start posting it in December, so keep an eye out for it then. Hopefully it won't take me two years to write, haha.  
> Speaking of Hope, as I'm sure most of you are aware, the Outlast comics have updated again, with issue three messing up a lot of the base game's established canon. As some of you might have caught on, I wrote in a little reminder in this fic that I will not be using any comic canon in this story. Ants are not a suitable host. Fight me Red Barrels.  
> With that said, hey, Miles and R finally left the damn asylum. If you thought 260 pages of them in one building was exciting just wait for 300 pages of exhilarating Jeep content.  
> I really do hope to see you all back for part two, I promise it'll be an adventure.  
> Thanks again, and see you in December.  
> -Tye  
> PS: I debated not mentioning this, but I may or may not look into printing this as a hard copy book next year. If the cost isn't astronomical I might print extra copies and sell them to anyone who wants a physical copy. Before I can even do that I'll need to edit the whole thing again and fix all the spelling and grammar errors that are present, trust me, there's a lot. And also reformat the book so it's not in "internet" reading mode. Who knows, I might add in a scene or two. If I decide to do that, I'll let everyone know in the author notes in later chapters in part two. For now, it's just an idea I'm tossing around.


End file.
